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SUNSET FANCIES, 



BY 



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Georgia M. Harpel. 



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WILLIAM F. BART LEY, 
Printer, 
21 AND 23 Ann Street, 
New York, 



PREFACE. 

Kind reader be indulgent in the perusal of this little 

volume, as the poems and stories were written 

at the time only for the family and 

dearest friends of the author. 



CONTENTS. 

Sunset Fancies ----- ^ 

Best of All - - - - - - lo 

An Ideal - - - - , iq 

To Daisy - - - - - - ii 

My Sweetheart - - - - - 12 

Birthday Greeting, To My Mother - - - 13 

Birthday Greeting, To Papa - - - 14 

To Isabel - - - - - - 15 

A lyost Moment - - - - 16 

Aspirations - - - - - - 17 

Only ------ 18 

Past and Future - - - - - 19 

A Springtime Idyl - - - - 20 

Shadows - - - - - - 21 

Castles in the Air - - - - 22 

A Second Thought - - - - - 23 

The Quarrel - - - - 24 

The Shattered Idol - - - - - 25 

The Picture in the Watch - - - 26 

Old Treasures - - - - - 27 

Voices of the Waves - - - - 30 

A Birthday Message, To Mamma - - - 31 

Unkind Words - - - - - 31 

Farewell - - - - - '32 

A True Dream ----- 33 

Twilight' s Afterglow - - - - 33 

The Daisy Fortune - - - - 35 

A Faded Rose - - - - - 35 

The False Jewel . - . _ 36 

Vain Regrets - - - - - 3^ 

A Wish ------ 38 

White Asters - - - - - 39 

Then Comes the Night - - - - 39 

Disillusioned ----- 41 

Grace - - - - - - 43 

Nobody Here to See - - - - 44 



Say,— Wouldn't You? 


- 


. 44 


A Message 


- 


45 


Roses and Thorns - 


- 


- 46 


A Contrast 


- 


47 


To a Hair Pin 


- 


. 4« 


Before the Arrival 


- 


48 


Unrest 


- 


- 49 


To My Mother, A Christmas Greeting 


50 


An Easter Greeting - 


- 


- 51 


At the Foot of the Cross 


- 


51 


The Sexton's Birthday 


- 


- 52 


A Lullaby 


- 


53 


Baby's Smile 


- 


- 54 


Housecleaning Time 


- 


55 


A Heart's Lament 


- 


- 56 


Peace be Still - 


- 


56 


Unattainable Wishes 


- 


- 57 


Twilight's Hour - 


- 


57 


An Ode to Her Voice 


- 


- 58 


The Flower Girl 


- 


60 


Birthday Wishes 


- 


- 6i 


July Fourth, Papa's Birthday 


62 


After Rain 


- 


- 63 


Youthful Heroism 


- 


63 


On Carrie's Birthday 


- 


- 65 


To Le Roy on his Birthday 


65 


A Letter, (To Carrie) 


- 


- 66 


My Ideal 


- 


67 


My True Love 


- 


- 67 


A Bunch of Violets 


- 


68 


Heralds of Spring 


- 


- 70 


The Maid of the Hazel 


Eyes - 


71 


Yesterday 


- 


- 72 


At Last' 


- 


75 


The Saddest of All 


- 


- 79 


For Faith, or the Home 


Coming 


85 


Two Paths, A Fable 


- 


- 97 



SUNSET FANCEKS. 

Bright da}' has faded from us, 

A glory of crimson and gold, 

And night with her cool, dark shadows, 

A soothing tale has told. 

How we, as well as sweet Nature 
Bow to a higher Will, 
And all iiiriie in wliisnering 
A thankful ''Peace be still!" 

And now from day's trials weary 
My tired brain is free; 
Strains from the past's sweet music 
Are wafted back to me. 

vSweet memories hover 'round me. 
Oft times too dear to last, 
TJiiclouded. bright, pure visions 
Of girlhood's happy past. 

O^' 3^outh's bright hopes and fancies: 
vSo glorious and so bright, 
They \ anished as the sunset 
Fades in the v/est to-night. 

Thinking in the soft twilight, 
Of the lapse of weary ^^ears 
I look at the fading glory 
Through a blinding mist of tears. 

Yet there's many a streak of crimson 
Left me from out the past. 
Some brighter gleams, and golden, 
More brilliant than the last. 

Perhaps the past was brighter, - 
More pleasure and less pain, 
But I look once more at the sunset 
And vv'ould not go back again, 



BEST OF ALL. 

'Tis good to see the diaiiioiid' .s gleam 
And the fiery sparks of li.^ht 
How they brigliten the cheering scene, 
Those little rays so bright. 

'Tis better to watch the sparkling dew 
Linger on grass and fiowers 
And butteniies who come to vvoo 
Away the sunny hours. 

' Tis best to see a repentant tear 
From the trembling eyelid start; 
To know the crystal drop so clear 
Springs from a contrite heart. 

And ere it has had time to fall 
Full pardon had been given. 
An angel who rejoiced o'er all 
Kas bourne the tear to Heaven. 

AN IDEAL. 

Only a vision that came in the night 

And drifted av/ay ere the the mornijig light. 

Only a face which I saw in a dream, 
Truh' the fairest I ever had seen. 

Two eyes sliining bright with a tender light, 
A pure soul reflected there to my sight. 

A vision that realized mj^ brightest dream 
And my heart quickl}^ acknov\'ledged its queen. 

But with the first dawn of faint rosy light. 
My beautiful vision faded from my sight. 

And only memories from v/hich I'll not part, 
Ever are hovering 'round my sad heart. 

And p'raps though I search I'll n'er find the real; 
I know that one night I saw my ideal. 

lO 



TO DAISY. 

There Is a beautiful garden 
Filled with rp.any tlowers sweet, 
And among the gorgeous blossoms 
Is a pure, white Marguerite. 

A simple, snow-white daisy, 
With a heart of shinhig gold. 
Which the sun has made so dazzling, 
It is lovely to behold. 

She nods a pretty greeting 

To her brilliant friends in turn 

Until tliey all adore her, 

From the rose to the graceful fern. 

She plays an important mission 
In easing an anxious heart, 
And Cupid often seeks her 
With his little fiery dart. 

And many lads and sweet lassies 
You'll find around the spot 
And the snow-white petals tell them 
If 'tis "Love", or "Loves me not." 

There's another Daisy growing 
In the varied garden of Life. 
Tall and pure and graceful, 
Unheeding aught of the strife. 

Standing now on the threshold, 
Tasting the pleasures so sweet, 
And still dreaming girlish fancies, 
Our pure, white Marguerite! 

II 



A symbol, the snow-white petals 
Of a 3-cuiig life, pure and bright; 
A heart, tender, true and golden, 
With 3'outhful fancies light. 

And of all earth's fariest blossoms. 
Brightl}.', gorgeously dressed, 
With the sunbeams playing 'round them, 
I love the Daisy best. 

MY SWEETHEART. 

Though enjoying all the beauties 
Of a perfect summer day 
I long so for my sweetheart 
That I wish the time away. 

It I could describe her to 3"ou 
As I can see her novv% 
Her golden locks all fioathig 
And each faintly penciled brow. 

IJps, the red roses' kisses 
Plave painted that brilliant hue. 
Eyes-stars of untold glories, 
Gleaming ever steadfast, true. 

A dimpled hand so tiny, 
Now ready to smooth m3^ brow: 
Allows no wrinkles to linger, 
Ah! how I wi.sh for her now. 

All w^ild and restless longings 
She banishes from my heart. 
'Twill be a golden moment^ 
When we need never part. 

Time's hands do move so slowly 
On their journeys to and fro. 
My love has but five summers^ 
I'm waiting for her to grow. 

12 



BIRTHDAY GREETING. 

TO riY nOTHER. JUNE 27th, 1892. 

O'er the hills the day is breaking, 
'Tis a perfect summer morn. 
The birds are softly twittering, 
''Another bright day is born." 

The pretty garden flowers 
Shyly and sleepily peep, 
As the zephyrs try to wake them 
With the game of hide-and-seek. 

I can count on bright, sweet Nature; 
The birds and blossoms gay 
Will do their best to aid me 
In having a perfect day. 

For to-daj^ is Mamma's birthday, 
And now a bird's sweet lay, 
Is trilling there by the window, - 
"Happ3^ returns of the da>." 

Her children who call her blessed 

With the little ones unite 

In trying to make this birthday 

Of dear Mamma' s more than bright. 

Standing, dear, there in the sunshine, 
Silver shining in your hair, 
You of all the summer flowers 
Seem to me most sweet and fair. 

For your daughter knows the cares, dear, 
Which have brought each silver thread, 
And every strand is precious 
Which crowns that dear loved head. 

Dearest Mother, may lyove's angel, 
Continue to lighten thy w^ays, 
And the kind Father spare thee to me 
For many more birthdays. 



13 



BIRTHDAY GREETING, 

TO PAPA. 

Birdling singing 'neath my window 
Wilt thou pause now in thy song 
And take a wish for Papa's birthday, 
I'll promise not to make it long? 

There are many birthday greetings: 
Health, happiness and good cheer 
And that numerous more bright birthdays 
May be thine for many a year. 

But my dearest, may God bless thee, 
Make the years go slowly by, 
And each golden moment bring thee, 
Not one tear to dim thine eye. 

And may every year be happier 
Than the one that has just past 
And each cloud its silver lining 
Be still brighter than the last. 

Papa dear, you know these wishes 
Find an echo in my heart, 
And to-day I feel so near thee 
Tho' we're really miles apart. 

But of all my wishes for thee 
The one I feel to be the best 
Is just a simple, — "God bless thee" 
Which covers all the rest. 

And now birdling you must hasten, 
Do not loiter on the way 
For I want j^ou to awaken Papa, 
With this song at peep of day. 

14 



TO ISABEL. 

An infant's coo. Oh, jo5'ful sound! 
Another gift from God is given. 
At baby's voice our hearts rebound 
It changes earth for us to heaven. 

A little girl with soft brown hair, 

Eyes which are borrowed from heaven's own blue. 

The vSnowy lily is not half so fair 

As our baby to whom all praise is due. 

Mother tremulously holds out her arms; 

In them grandma lays baby with a tender kiss, 

In heaven the angles sing sweetest psalms 

As though they could witness earth's highest bliss. 

Far, far away the tidings flj^ 

Another treasure to us is given. 

Two homesick girls together cry 

And with joyful hearts give thanks to heaven. 

What shall w^e call our baby girl? 
Hosts of names float through my mind: 
Gladys, Maud, Agnes or Pearl; 
She must have the prettiest we can find. 

Ah! there is one sweeter far, 
Dearer too, than tongue can tell, 
A precious gift to our little girl 
Is her mother's name of Isabel. 

If I were a fairy, little Isabel, 
Your life would be happy and blest; 
But I can only wish thee well 
And ask God to grant the rest. 

15 



A LOST nCilENT. 

A bright opportunity lost, a golden moment past, 
Gone for all eternity, eluding our feeble grasp, 
' Twas a brief glimpse of Heaven which dazzled our tear 
dimmed ej'es, [skies. 

A glance from Joy's bright angel, so soon returned to the 

The moment prayed and longed for is granted us at last, 
We're weaving dreams enchanting, retrieving a troubled 

past; 
Planning a brilliant future of the blissful life we'll live; 
Hopes that may all be realized with the little word-Forgive. 

The moment came and vanished, leaving its traces on 

the head, 
Pride, and love, and anger have borne an important part, 
Words so hastil}^ spoken we'd give our lives to recall, 
For where sunshine glimmered brightly, now clouds o'er 

sha low all. 

The web so long in weaving is more tangled before, 

The broken threads are numerous, the knots grov/ more 

and more. 
So heavy grows the burden, and so weary is the strife 
Alone we can't do the weaving in this tangled net of life. 

So after much weary heartache and struggle to find the 

light, 
We bring the web to the Master and ask him to set it right. 
Ah! quickl}^ the threads are straightened^ shining the 

bright, pure gold, [hold. 

Transformed by a touch of His hand, 'tis dazzling to be- 

Heaven's dew revives Hope's flower, its sweet fragrance 
fills the air, [of care. 

New life the perfume gives u.s^ for lost is the mantle 
We hear this tender whisper, -"Perhaps on a future day 
Another golden moment will banish the mist away. " 

16 



ASPIRATIONS. 

I want to be wise, I long to be great, 
When I hear of the deeds of some great man. 
Oh, if his lot had been my fate! 
I want to be more than I can. 

Many such longings fill my soul; 
Why cannot I do some great deed: 
To save a life or bear a part 
In such great struggles as I read. 

Could I write a book^ or e'en a tale, 
Charm all with verses from my pen, 
Or had I voice like a nightingale, 
I should be happier then. 

I must be good. Contentment will come, 
Faintly somewhere I hear a voice, - 
Thy duty now lies in thy home. 
There thou canst make hearts rejoice. 

Thou must do thy part in Life's hard way 
Although to you it seems but small 
And dreaming is pleasant, but idle play; 
The same God will protect us all. 



17 



ONLY. 

Only one of the tiniest seeds, 

A bo}^ by the wayside flings; 

And in the midst of hosts of weeds, 
The prettiest blossom springs. 

Only a bunch of flowers, 

To a lonely sick girl given; 

Yet they cheered her many hours, 

And seemed a breath from heaven. 

Onl}^ a kind word spoken, 

But it lessened hours of pain; 

Only a friendly token, 

But it was not given in vain. 

Only a friendly hand clasp, 

Yet it turned a heart from despair, 
Only help with a troublesome task, 

And it lightened worry and care. 

Only right, to do and dare, 

And the danger soon is past, 

Only a whispered prayer* 

Vet a soul is saved at last. 



iS 



PAST AND FUTURE. 

Why vain regrets for the happy past? 

The beautiful dream that would not .sta\! 
That vanished treasure that could not last, 

A vision that faded too quickly away! 

Visions float o'er nie of happier days. 

When Love reigned supreme; 
And life was transformed in a rose-coJored maze; 

Ah me! to find it a dream. 

When life was as calm as a summer sea, 

And I though not of to-morrow; 
Heartaches and worries were strangers to me, 

And I did not dream of sorrov>\ 

Now that is changed most of all, 

I now know the meaning of pain, 
My heart vSends up a wordless cry 

For the past to return again. 

But a voice replies, tender and sweet, 

"Child, think of the future, for dead is the past. 
To the narrow^ path turn thou thy feet, 

Thou wilt find joy and peace at last. 

"No more regrets for thy vanished past; 

Thou wilt only live in the present joy. 
Happiness now will be thine that will last. 

Thy perfect bliss will have no alloy." 



19 



A SPRiNGTrriE fDYU 

*Twas on a morn in early 'May^ 
Wlien fragrant odors filled tlie air; 
Birds were singing their sweetest lay; 
The world had never seemed so fair. 

And on that beautiful sunny day, 

A maid tripp-d by so bright and fair, 

Tlie sun sent out its brightest ray, 

The sunbeams played with her golden hair. 

At last she paused by an old stone gate, 
And the lovelight shone in her bright blue eye; 
She had promised her love that she would wait, 
And oh! how slowly the time passed by. 

She plucked a daisy and gaily cried, — 

"I'll find if he loves me truly." 

The snow-white petals fell far and wide, — 

"He loves me, he loves me not — ,he loves me!" 

Some one was coming with a swinging stride. 
And a happy look on his manly face, 
As he watched the maid with loving pride 
As she stood in unconscious girlish grace. 

Then her hands were held in a tender clasp, 
And a voice murmured in her ear, — 
"You know he loves you, so why need 3-ou ask? 
I can tell you more than the daisy, dear." 

Then the old, old story again is told, 
And both are more happy than tongue can tell, 
V/e will leave them before their bliss has grown old 
And wish them joy and a kind farewell. 



20 



SHADOWS. 

Quitely resting from the strife^ 
Not caring to struggle more, 
Thankful that piece is his at last^ 
The worst of Life's battle o'er. 

The man who these thoughts are dreaming 
Has hair as white as snow; 
He sits watching the firelight flicker, 
As the shadows come and go. 

Making such wonderful pictures, 
Reminding him of the past; 
Of his bright hopes and ambitions, 
Which were too daring to last. 

Seeing dear familiar faces 
Flitting by as in a dream. 
But one lingers clear and longest 
As though the acknowledged queen. 

His face has pathetic beauty, 
As shown by the fire's glow; 
And he watches so intently, 
As the shadows come and go. 

And the one that stays the longest 
Is a strangly lovely face. 
In his dream it still is youthful; 
Care and years have left no trace. 

Past grief is gladly forgotten, 
Naught but joy will he see. 
He smiles once more to the shadow 
And sighs, — "Love, I'll go to thee.** 

* * * * ♦ 

The room is quiet and peaceful; 
Shadov»'S have vanished once more. 
Angels are gladly rejoicing 
That a reign of pain is o'er. 

21 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 

A girl sat dreaming day by day, 
Seeing the future a golden maze; 
Expecting the beautiful visions to sta3'', 
That the joy will be real and hers alway. 

Her bright face reflected the glories she saw, 
Her eyes were sparkling and bright. 
The beautiful castles grew more and more 
As the day faded into night. 

The foundation was now surely laid; 
She heeds not the w^arning in her ear: 
* * Be sure that on a rock its made, 
Or your folly will cost you dear! " 

" But alas!" she creid — " The sands are near, 

My castle looks so stately there 

I am sure no harm can reach me here, 

My home is so strong and fair. ' ' 

At last it is finished and is so bright. 

And stands so proudly there alone. 

She draws a deep breath at the dazzling sight, 

As she nears her beautiful home. 

But, hark! A storm is surely near. 
The wind fiercely howls and thunders crash. 
Her beautiful face is distorted with fear 
As she watches the fearful lightnings flash. 

The cruel sea rises, and lo! a wave 
Makes a waste of the beautiful land. 
Where the castle stood is now a grave. 
Oh, why did she build on sand? 



22 



A SECOND THOUGHT. 

1 wrote a tender message 

For you one winter night, 

But next day I tore it up, dear, 

Things change in the morning light. 

And I felt I must keep the silence 
Though my heart was breaking, dear, 
And I knew my little message 
Was one you longed to hear. 

* ' But you might misunderstand it, ' ' 
Whispered the voice of Pride; 
Then I tore it into atoms, 
And burned it up besides. 

But to-night as I sit in the twilight, 
Looking at the fire's glow. 
Watching the shadows falling, 
Gliding to and fro. 

I dream what might have been my life 
Had love been my only light. 
Had I sent to you the message 
My heart wrote to you that night. 



23 



THE QUARREL. 

Jamie and I had quarreled one day, 
I was very angry too; 
I never could forgive him; 
Now, say — Would you? 

We always had been sweethearts. 
He loved me, that I knew. 
He wrote me he was sorry; 
I laughed — Would you? 

For Archie Ray came wooing, 
He was handsome rich and true. 
I said that Jamie I'd forget: 
Now say — Would you? 

Archie came and kept on coming, 
As a lover comes to woo; 
But I couldn't stop my heartache; 
Say — Could you? 

So I told him through my weeping 
That I loved my Jamie true. 
I love him just because he's Jamie; 
Wouldn't you? 



24 



THE SHATTERED IDOL. 

I made myself an idol 
I Ihoiiglit 'twas purest gold, 
And paid it daily homage, 
Just as they did of old. 

But there was something wanting, 
Just what I could not tell. 
At last it grew so feeble, 
One day my treasure fell. 

Then fast my tears did gather 
To see such ruin there, 
Of what had been so lovely, 
So stately, and so fair. 

I gathered all the pieces. 

To put them right away; 

But my efforts all were fruitless, 

My labor was in vain. 

I looked at it there shattered. 
Then I dashed my tears away. 
It was not worth the weeping, 
For my idol was of clay. 



35 



THE PICTURE IN THE WATCH. 

We were chatting in the parlor, 
I was in a mood to tease; 
And he was trying truly 
My wayward whim to please. 

But nothing said would suit me, 
My niooil I can't explain, 
In my heart sprang some new feeling 
That w^as near akin to pain. 

And to blind those eyes that watched me 
I grew provokingly at ease, 
And searched my brain for subjects, 
I thought most sure to tease. 

I spied his watch and bade him 

Show me the picture there. 

I said, — ** I know you have the likeness 

Of a maid most sweet and fair." 

'* I will show you," he said coolly, 
" If you really care to see 
The face of this fairest maiden 
Who is all the world to me. ' ' 

"I've hitherto kept her hidden 
From any curious view. 
But I will not hide my treasure 
From a friend so good as you. 

*' Here within this golden casement 
Her sweet pictured face you'll see. 
Now tell me your opinion 
Of this maid so dear to me ? ' ' 

Why did life then grow dreary? 
And I longed to steal away 
Fearing to betray a secret 
Kept for many a weary day. 

26 



But I gathered all my courage. 
Laughing, looking in the C'ase; 
But I saw no wondrous vision, 
Only my own smiling face. 

With its laughing orbs so tender, 
Beaming forth their glad surprise, 
For 'twas only my reflection 
That met my happy eyes. 

While I looked he shut the cover; 
Said the face reflected there 
Would engraven be forever 
A memory most fair. 

A shy happiness stole o'er me 
His stratagem won the day; 
And I hoped the maiden's picture 
In his watch would live for aye. 



OLD TREASURES. 

Torn and yellow and much crumpled, 

Hidden away from view. 

Bygone treasures and letters, 

Some tied with a ribbon blue; 

And some blurred as if by teardrops 

And hastily put away. 

Oh! what a host of memories 

For me to recall to day! 

I thought them destroyed for ages 
'Tis long ere I saw them last; 
These once dear but faded trinkets 
Seem ghosts of a buried past. 
Youthful dieams I'd long forgotten. 
Air castles, all fair but frail, 
Come floating back to my memory 
Like a forgotten fairy tale. 



27 



See, here is an invitation 
To attend the tennis dance, 
And underneath faint pencilled, 
" May I be your escort? — lyance. " 
A loveknot of bright blue ribbon 
From a box of Iluyler's best. 
A few sweet faded violets, 
Fondly and tenderly pressed. 
* * * 

Here's a tarnished, old brass button 
From an army coat of blue; 
I almost forget that summer, 
I wonder, dear, do you ? 
Favors tied with tin.sel faded, 
Programmes from many a ball, 
Lists of forgotten past triumphs, 
F'allen from Memory's wall. 

So now they rise and comfort me, 
With their dear dead hopes and fears; 
Whilst once they were the centre of old 

time 
Of old-time smiles and tears; 
Therefor I touch them tenderly, 
These comrades 1 once loved Vv'ell, 
And still confide to them safely, 
The secrets they will not tell. 

There's a picture in a locket 
Of a smiling boyish face. 
Has Time but kissed him lightly, 
Or has grim Care left her trace? 
Here's a Christmas card traced faintly 
" Yours ever," in violet ink; 
And valentines fashioned brightly 
Out of paper, gokl and pink. 



28 



Look at this package of letters, 
Tied fast with a ribbon white ? 
I'm faint from their sickl}^ perfiniie, 
I'll bury that parcel from sight. 
Now this is better ! I'm laughing 
O'er this effusion of rhyme. 
Heart and dart tenderly mingled, 

And love in every line. 

* * f^ 

An invation from Harry 

To a concert at Conway Hal); 

And here' s my feather fan broken 

By Jack at Charity Ball. 

The years fade awaj^ in silence 

In looking back o'er the past, 

And I'm once more in my girlhood, 

Dreaming the dreams that last. 

* * * 

There ! the clock is chiming midnight, 

I shall gather every trace 

Of these long forgotton treasures, 

To throw in the fireplace. 

They long ago served their purj)o?e. 

And now I can place them here, 

Right in the heart of the fire 

Without a regretful tear. 



29 



VOICES OF THE WAVES. 

Madly, turbulently beat the waves, 
Dashinging in on the spray-kissed shore; 
Receding, then coming with roar and moan, 
With the same old story for evermore. 

W^e listen and think in wonder and awe 
Of the wondrous tales they could enfold, 
Of shipwrecked lives and ruined hopes; 
All make up the story as sad as 'tis old. 

But to-day as I sit on the sunny shore 
Watching their fearless and frolicsome play, 
They whisper to me of naught but joy, 
Of beautiful secrets they only can say. 

For the sky is bright and clear and blue. 
Gazing into a sea quite calm. 
And it seems but a myth that those playful waves 
Ever wrought shipwreck, or havoc, or harm. 

And I wonder if 'tis the v.'ay with some lives: 
When their sky is clear they are calm and sweet; 
But should storm arise they beat and dash, 
Until havoc and shipv/reck are laid at their feet. 

But to-day one can think of nothing but peace, 

For the very wave beats are all in tune, 

As they softly, timidly kiss the vSand, 

And sooth into sleep with the song they croon. 



30 



UNKIND WORDS. 

This world would be a purer place, 
If people would onlj' beware 
Of hasty and unkind words, 
Uttered with never a care. 

]3ut the sting they leave behind 
And the anguish they cause and despair. 
And the woe that is sometimes wrought 
Are thoughts which we cannot bear. 

A saddened, lonely heart 
Has griefs enough and woe, 
Without the slurs and cuts 
Which make the cup o'erfiow. 

How much brighter Life would be 
If each would do their part 
To heal another's wounded feelings. 
And cheer a wearj^ heart. 



A BIRTHDAY HESSAGE. 

TO HAnriA: 

May every bird sing sweeter 
And all things be in tune, 
May each flower's bloom be brighter 
On this dear day in June. 

And in their sweetest perfume 
With birds' songs from every tree, 
In the depth of all Nature's music 
Find a message, dear, from me. 

The zephyrs now grow softer 
And blue are the skies above 
While they all repeat the story 
For my message, dear, is Love. 

31 



PARfiWELL. 

Don't look so sorrowful, dear one, 
It was not your fault, you know. 
You could not help my loving. 
Men lovv- for weal or woe. 

And you could not help but scatter 

My castle of love at my feet; 

Thouj^h my hope died out with the dying day 

You could not help it, sweet. 

How could you be to blame, dear, 
VoT being your s\.veet self, pray, 
And how was I to love you more, 
And worship you day by day? 

The very first moment I saw you, 
I crowned you my queen, my ideal; 
And ever as the years rolled by 
Would you some new grace reveal. 

No man could help worship you; 
They should all bow at your feet. 
No act or word of yours but charmed me. 
You seem perfection, sweet. 

Your ]->icture for years and years, dear, 
lias nestled around my heart, 
Aiud o'er it I've dreamed sweet dreams, love, 
When we were miles apart. 

All prosaic work grew brighter. 
I worked for your praise; and you 
Felt inspired with every picture. 
All success to you is due. 

Every morning I WM)uld whisper 
"Will my queen be pleased with this?" 
And just the joy of so believing 
Would bring its own sweet bliss. 

32 



But I dreamed not of fulfillment. 
I simply worshiped at your feet. 
I knew you were too far above me. 
What! tears falling for me, sweet? 

Don't you know you arem}^ idol? 
I cannot have you weep for me. 
There's not a girl in all the world, dear, 
Will bear comparison to thee. 

And I would not give up loving, 
Though the pain is hard and real. 
For vv'hat e'er may be my fate, dear, 
I have found my Life's ideal. 

TWILiGHT'S AFTERGLOW. 

After the days maddening hustle, 
And the hurrying to and fro, 
Then a rosy tint and a peaceful light 
We call twilight's afterglow. 

And when we have passed Life s brilliant noon 
And reached the twilight, soft and low, 
W^e can look back on youth's troubled past 
From peaceful twilight's afterglow. 

A TRUE DREAfl. 

A wonderful dream came to me once, 

Many long years ago; 
But the same bright vision surrounds me now, 

And will never leave me, I know. 

I thought the Judgment Day had come, 

All were there from earth and the realms above. 

And I dreamt I knelt at the Judge's feet 
In the shadow of his love. 

33 



Though I saw so much of grief and woe, 

My sense of peace was sweet; 
As I nestled there on my bed of clouds, 

Close to the Judge's feet. 

I saw those Vv^hose faces were wild with despair, 
Others vsliown with a holy delight; 

As they went up or down as the Judge decreed, 
And floated slowly from my sight. 

The saddest part of my strange dream 

Was that the Saved were few; 
But wlien I remember my honored place — 

Ah! if that part will onh^ come true! 

If but on that great Judgment Day, 

All our dear friends we shall meet! 

We'll find there perfect joy at last 
Close to our Savior's feet. 

A FADED ROSE. 

Only a red rose whithered, 
With all its fragrance gone, 
And even some leaves are missing, 
Crumpled and scattered and torn. 

But from each of its faded petals, 
A message is breathed to me; 
And that is Vv^hy I press the rose 
And treasure it tenderl3\ 

The message softly whispered. 
Fell on my ear that night; 
'Twas scarce defined, yet I understood 
The rose say, — "All is right. 



34 



' » 



THE DAISY FORTUNE. 

We were ending our walk slowly, 
Wandering the meadow through; 
The sun the hills had hidden; 
The grass seemed wet with dew. 

The field was white with daisies, 
Sprinkled thickly here and there 
With red and white sweet -clover 
And other blossoms fair. 

The air was sweet with perfume, 
And from a forest tree 
Songs from belated night birds 
Were wafted back to me. 

The notes were sad and plaintive^ 
And our talk quite died away. 
A strange restraint came o'er me 
Brought by the birds' sad lay. 

For he had not spoken plainly, 
And my heart was faint and sad; 
And it needed all my courage 
To make my voice sound glad. 

His stay would soon be over. 
Why were we sad to-day? 
These last few golden hours, 
Should be of the gayest, gay. 

I paused to pluck some daisies; 

He bade me his fortune tell, 

And I found his sweetheart loved him, 

And loved him more than well. 

His voice faltered as he whispered, — 
'•Tell me is this really true? 
There's but one can answer surely. 
And that one, dear, is you." 

35 



r thought what is more bh'ssful 
Thau love and hope and youth? 
As I answered, brightly blushing, — 
''The daisy told the truth/' 

After lie had left me 

Alone in the lane that night, 

I ran away to the meadow 

By the moonlight, soft and bright. 

And there in the pathway narrow, 
Found the daisy tossed away 
And named it, with warm kisses 
My talisman from that day. 

'Tis years since that .summer evening, 
Yet it always seemed to me 
The daisy proved a mascot 
To me, love, and to tUee. 

And here a tiny blossom dear 
Is running down the meadow lane. 
Come here, my darling Daisy? 
Mamma's made a daisy chain. 

THE FALSE JEWEL. 

Once on my lonely wanderings 

I found a treasure rare; 

And ni}' heart o'erflowed with gladness 

To find a jewel so fair. 

I rejoiced o'er my good fortune 
And life ne'er seemed to me 
Half so bright and lovely, 
So beautiful and free. 

I caressed m}^ lovel}^ jewel 
And placed it next my heart. 
Come what might, resolving 
That we would never part. 



How I gloried in its splendor, 
V/hicli dazzled and pleased the sight. 
I could never weary gazing 
On its sparkling radiant light. 

I began to love it dearly; 
It crept far into my heart, 
Till now it seemed my treasure 
From which I could not part. 

Tliose who saw my Idol worship 
Ureathed a warning in my ear: 
* 'All is not gold that glitters. ' ' 
But their whisper I'd not hear. 

I treasured it e'en more fondly, / 

And only lived to gaze / 

Upon its dazzling beauty, 
In wonder and amaze. 

Till many years had vanished 
And I saw another jev,^el; 
Its pure light clearly shining — 
My awakening seemed cruel. 

For when I sought my treasure, 
I saw through its false glare. 
Its light, my eyes reflected, 
I found no true spark there. 

But though my jewel deceived me, 
With its glitter, false though fair, 
I could not cast it from my heart, 
Without a thought of care. 

The love I had lavished o'er it 
Through all the wear}^ years! 
It had been my loved companion 
Through smiles and frowns and tears. 

37 



But I never could abide falsehood, 
So put it gently from my heart, 
And now from glittering treasures 
I walk my way apart. 

For though the other sparkles purely, 
And is very fair to see, 
No second jewel can take the place 
That was held and lost by thee. 

VAIN REGRETS. 

Oh, dear! I've thrown away my dolly; 
It was such a lovely dolly to. 
She had golden hair, so soft and shiny, 
And the sweetevSt eyes of blue. 

And I did love my dear, dear dolly. 
But something went wrong one day, 
Till I even grew angry with my dolly, 
And then I throwed her far away. 

Now, I've looked and looked and I can't find her, 

And I'm sorry, as sorry can be. 

I know you'll never be happy, dolly. 

With no little girl for mother but me. 

'Tis years and years since a tiny baby. 
Looked sadly out on the busy street, 
For a trace of the doll she had discarded 
Which now when lost seemed doubly sweet. 

A WISH. 

Oh! could I wish for thee something 

So sweet, so inexpressively dear. 

That would brighten thy eyes and gladden thy heart, 

And cast out all shadows and fears! 



38 



All! if tlie wishes that dwell in my heart 
Conld be written in words I know, 
Tlieir ardor would reach to the end of the earth, 
Wlierever 5-011 were they would go. 

They would reach you at last and cast o'er you 
A spell of happiness, beauty and love, 
Atid beauty would last and love would be true, 
True as the heaven above. 

And surround you and bless 3'ou all of your life. 
And if sorrow comes to 3'ou one day. 
The' 11 guard you so tenderly and shield you so well, 
All trouble must fade away. 

WHITE ASTERS. 

Summer has long ago vanished, 
And cooler 'tis growing each day, 
And the sharp touch of the breezes 
Have frightened the flow^ers away. 
But into the heart of the meadow 
I wandered: and hid from the cold. 
Found a lingering breath of the summer, 
White Asters with hearts of gold. 

THEN cones THE NIGHT. 

Bright, laughing Day has bidden us, 
A lingering, blushing adieu. 
And Night with her shimmering mantle 
Hides the soft flushes from view'. 

She has given the hills sweet kisses, 
Which have traced a glory there, 
Fading to a soft radiance, ^ 

When touched by the evening air. 



39 



Now, Night draws closer her mantle 
Gleaming with many a star, 
Like gems they peep through the fastening, 
And banish shadows afar. 

Then the moon's bright, shining glory 
(Though but a faint touch of day) 
Pervades the night with a splendor 
Which naught can drive away. 

A sweet echo from the woodlands, 
A belated night bird's song, 
His anxious mate assuring 
He will not tarry long. 

A slight figure rushes wildl}' 
Into the calm cool night. 
'Tis not the moon's weird shadows 
Which makes her face so white. 

'Tis a young heart's first real sorry, 
And through the still night air, 
While sobbing stirs the echoes. 
And tells a heart's despair. 

E'en stars' bright eyes grow misty 
To see such grief and care, 
And the dew their pearly tear-drops. 
Moisten the girl's dark hair. 

The leaves of the oak and maple 
Are whispering lullabies; 
And the plaintive evening zephyrs 
Seem echoing her deep sighs. 

'Till, suddenly as she listens 

To file rustic in the trees, 

She thinks 'tis words they murmur 

Which are caught up by the breeze. 

40 



An unseen hand seems stirring them, 
And there where she trembling stood, 
All nature seemed thus murmuring, — 
**Take comfort! God is good?" 

Hushed was her heart's wild throbbing, 
Again she seemed to see 
A child w4th her bible standing, 
Close to her mother's knee. 

These words from the Past's deep shadows, 
Like rays from the crimson west: — 
^'Come unto me all ye weary, 
And I will give thee rest, ' ' 

The figure mo^^ed away slowly. 

Her pale face all aglow; 

Murmuring, — "Thanks, peaceful Nature, 

For soothing thus my woe." 

DISILLUSIONED. 

The fire burned bright and cherrily, 
Throwing out manj- a ray 
On a girl who sat beside it. 
And a dog that near her lay. 

These two were close friends and comrades; 
To him she her secrets confessed; 
And a safe confident she found him. 
The most silent and the best. 

To-night her bright eyes were beaming, 
With a joy they could not hide; 
She had hastened to find old Rover 
And to him her hopes confide. 

"To-night I'm to go to the tall dear, 
And I shall meet him there. 
So I must look my loveliest, 
And my prettiest costume wear. 

41 



*'P\)r to-day he returned from th^ jotirne}^ 
Which he took at my hasty word, 
But Fin ready to own my short comings, 
For I was young and absurd. 

"A coquettish girl, and silly, 
Kut I've repented with tears; 
And 'tis ages since we parted, 
Just think, old frfend — five years! 

"But I shall see him to-niglit once more; 
I know he will be the same; 
Glad to make up and forgive me, 
And read}^ to 1)ear the blame. 

**.^ee! I'm dressed as he liked me best, 
All in sliinunering white. 
Good-bye, doggie. I'll tell the rest 
When I come home to-night." 

Well; yes, at the ball she met him. 
But all was not the same; 
Though his face grew bright and glowing 
As he whispered her loved name. 

He had brought a lady with him. 
Who was not so young and fair, 
Jhit who clung to tlie arm of her escort 
As though 'twas her right to be there. 

And after a moment's confusion 
Which seemed to take a life 
He introduced the lady 
As his "most honored wife." 

The girl danced the whole evening, 
And seemed the gayest there. 
She was pronounced the sweetest! 
The bell! and the most fair! 



42 



But a thankful sigli escaped her 
When her carriage came at last, 
And she was alone in quiet 
To review the hours past. 

She has reached her home in safety 
Where Rover waits to hear 
All the ne\vs that she might tell him, 
Be it happy or most drear. 

She threw herself beside him, 

Her tears on his rough coat fell. 

"Oh Rover! I promised to tell you, 

But, ' ' — sobbing, * 'there' s nothing to tell]' ' 

GRACE. 

Laughing, teasing ail the day. 
Yet with such a winsome way 
One can never say her nay, 

Dear Grace, 

Sunbeams linger in her hair, 
Roses bloom on cheeks so fair 
As though they loved to linger there 
With Grace. 

And when bright gleams the brown eyes take, 
I do not wonder stout hearts ache 
With wordless longing for your sake, 
Miss Grace. 

Mischief always is her text 
*Tis impossible to be vexed 
Though you never know what's next 
With Grace. 

Wishing ere to share the gleams 
That within her life there beams, 
With those whose lot more dreary seems, 

Is Grace. 



43 



NOBODY HERE TO SEE, 

vSupposing I kiss his picture 
And whatever harm can there be 
If a tear falls on his writing 
For there' s nobody here to see. 

And if I caress a trinket 
Or fondle a lock of hair 
\¥liat matter my deep blushes, 
For there's nobody here to see. 

And the rose by somebody given,, 
Somebody dear to me. 
Suppose my kisses rain upon it, 
There's nobody here to see. 

And if my heart is aching 
With a fierce unspoken woe, 
My secret's safely hidden 
For there's nobody here to see. 

SAY WOULDN'T YOU! 

I like a Scotch lassie, 
With eyes a dark hue, 
And cheeks red as roses, 

Sa}^ wouldn't you? 

Her ways are so winning, 
Her heart is so true, 
I see her quite often; 

Say, wouldn't you? 

In her sweet face beaming, 

There's dimples a few, 

I sometimes just kiss them; 

Say, wouldn't you? 

I'm not very ancient, 

Or ready to woo, 

But still I must love her! 

Say, wouldn't you? 

44 



A riESSAQE. 

I'll send my boy a message, 
And I wish the stars to hear, 
That they may bear it quickly, 
To one I hold so dear. 

To him who is far from us, 
Awa}^ 'neath southern skies. 
They vAll know him by the sparkle 
In his sunny azure eyes. 

His ringing boyish laughter, 
And the broad and noble brow, 
His bright and manly bearing 
Methinks I see him now. 

And perhaps you too will aid me, 
Thou gentle evening breeze, 
Stirring so soft, yet quickly 
Midst the ash and maple trees. 

Ah! Yes, I know you've caught it, 
And are ready to depart. 
To whisper to my darling 
An echo from my heart. 

'Tis only a loving message, 
Which the wind and stars will bear, 
Fond love, bright hopes, deep longing, 
'Mid all, a tender prayer. 

That a strong sure hand may guide him, 
O'er the rough and stony way; 
Ever aiding, ever helping 
Through each bright or dreamy day. 

Now, dear zephyrs, gently stirring, 
With some deep and hidden joy. 
Please remember all my message, — 
' 'God bless, and keep my boy. ' ' 

45 



R0SE5 AND THORNS. 

My little maid comes pattering; 
On her face the color glows; 
Hidden away in her apron 
Is many a fragrant rose. 

Then so quickly coming near me. 
With her apron held so tight. 
And her face upturned towards me 
With a happy beaming light, — 

Told me of the tramp she'd taken — 
Joy shown in her hazel eyes — 
To gather these fragrant roses 
To give Mamma a surprise. 

Letting fall her dainty apron 
Showering roses, red and white; 
But to me she seemed the sweetest, 
Smiling there so fair and bright. 

Then she broke a lovely cluster, 
Sparkling with the dew of morn 
When suddenly a cry escaped her, — 
"Oh, dear! Mamma there's a thorn!" 

Holding up her bleading finger, 
With the tender flesh all torn, 
Sobbing, — "I'd have left the roses 
If I'd known there was a thorn." 

Tenderly I soothe my darling, 
While I kiss the tears away. 
And whisper, — "If we want the roses, 
We must take the thorns away. ' ' 

But as I watch the bright sunbeams 
Kiss her sweet and plaintive face, 
I pray her path may be all roses. 
And if thorns, they'l! leave faint trace. 

46 



A CONTRAST. 

There's a house full of children 
111 our modest home. 
And I never know the luxury 
Of a moment quite alone. 

Five little pair of feet to clad, 
And five hungry mouths to feed, 
Onh' a very slender purse 
To get what the children need. 

Rob and Nettie often tumble 
And wee Susie bumps her head, 
I alwa3^s sigh most happily 
When I see them safe in bed. 

Bessie would tear her pinafore 
So many times a daj^ 
The only comfort ever near 
Is my six months baby Ray. 

In the next house b}'' the window 
Enjojdng breaths of new hay, 
Rocking and reading at leisure 
Is the lady over the way. 

When I think of your joy and ease 
And contrast your fate with mine, 
Ah, how gladly would I change 
My lot in life with thine. 

Hark to the tramp of many feet, 
Thrown open the kitchen door, 
Alas! tracks of those muddy boots 
Are shown on my shining floor. 

I must smother my vexation, 
For their lips are on m}^ face 
And I am enfolded closely 
In a rough, though fond embrace. 

47 



Whisper how dearly they love me, 
No one's Mamma is like me, 
I'm the clearest and the nicest 
All four together agree. 

I fondly clasp tears and scratches. 
Whilst with moist eyes I say, — 
* 'Thank God, I cannot change places 
With the lady over the way. ' ' 

TO A HAIR PIN. 

I know yon are crooked and worthless, 

But you rested in her hair, 

Until one day I found you, 

And treasured j^ou since with care. 

Around my watch stem I wound you. 
Where you attract curious eyes, 
And though you're a strange decoration, 
I'd not have you otherwise. 

Yes! you have torn my pocket. 
And catch in my coat each day. 
Many a time I've been tempted. 
But I have not thrown you away. 

BEFORE THE ARRIVAL. 

We are watching an arrival, 
My old school friend and I, 
She is standing by the window 
With an ever watchful eye. 

Will they come? Ah! do not doubt it. 
For I'm sure it must be fate 
Made me think to write that letter. 
Ah, I hope they won't be late. 



48 



Dear, the clock is striking seven, 
Sonietliing's happened to their train. 
Do you mind if we wait supper? 
Ah, supposing 'tis in vain? 

Come in the parlor its cooler, 
We can watch them better there, 
Oh, I know the tea is spoiling! 
She was nearly in despair. 

There, I'm sure I hear a footstep. 
Yes, their coming down the streetl 
How distinguished one is looking, 
Oh, how fast my heart does beat! 

There's the bell. My hair iu order? 
Tell me is my gown fixed straight? 
Ah, good evening. Glad your early. 
We feared you might be late. 

UNREST. 

My brain is tired and weary, 
And yet I cannot rest, 
So bring your zither and sooth me 
By playing tunes I love best. 

The air is full of soft music, 
I am carried on its strain, 
To a land of sweet melodies. 
Where nothing is known of pain. 

My troublesome self is forgotten, 
And selfish thoughts of the day 
Have mingled v/ith the soft music. 
And are fast melting aw^ay. • 

The music has entered my heart, 
And life seems brighter to me. 
All care and unrest have vanished 
Thanks to the zither and thee. 

4^ 



TO nV MOTHER. 
{A CHRISTMAS (jREEilNQ.) 

Dear Heart, the bells are chiming 
Peeling out so loud and clear, — 
"Peace on earth, Good-will to men," 
Another Christmastide is here. 

A bright and glorious Christmas, 
Touching hearts and dimming eyes, 
Borne of joyful thoughts and tender, 
Of Him, who descended from on high. 

To save and comfort us, his children, 
Suffering insult, bearing pain; 
That we may have lyife internal. 
When cleansed from earthly stain. 

So to-day must needs be joyful; 
Though that happened long ago, 
His presence still is with us. 
To soothe and comfort every woe. 

Childhood now is but a memory, 
Dear Heart, when you worked for me, 
l/ovely, costly presents buying 
And a dazzling Christmas tree. 

Ah! I remember still the waiting. 
Lingering anxious in the hall, 
'Till the parlor doors flew open 
And we heard the welcome call. 

This Christmas other tots are waiting, 
While I help dress the tree, 
'Tis only the same old story, 
How the golden moments flee! 

There' s not a dear one missing, 
]£ach in their accustomed place, 
Calling out a merry greeting, 
Smiles are wreathing every face. 

5© 



AN EASTER GREETING. 

The sun is dancing merrily, 
For 'tis Kaster morn you know, 
The bluebells are nodding gaily 
As the zephyrs come and go. 

IMa^^ you be happy, dear Mother, 
On this peaceful Kaster day, 
And may Heaven's choicest blessing- 
Shine on you and light your way! 

May life be as bright and joyful 
And clear as the Easter chimes, 
And you be as happy always 
As you were in olden times. 

K'en the birds sing of happiness, 
On to-day of all the year. 
For 'tis on an Kaster morning 
Angels of joy hover near. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS, 

Impatiently bearing her burdens 
Because they had to be borne, 
Weary and foot-sore toiling 
With conflicting feelings torn. 

For happines ceaselessly^ striving 
With many hopes and fears, 
Thinking in time she must gain it 
Through her love, her pride and tears. 

But at last her pride all left her 
And in a trembling tone 
She prayed for help to bear the burden 
She could not endure alone. 

Then an angel drew her weeping 

Awa}* from pain and loss 

And in tender arms encircled, 

She found peace at the foot of the cross. 

51 



But Iicavier i^rew tlie burden, 
AvS the vjeciry years went by, 
And slie would not ask for mercy; 
Will not utter a pleading cry. 

THE SHXTON^S BIRTHDAY^ 

'I'lie sexton stood by the open door. 
Watching the daybreak in the sky; 
A November morning, chill though clearj,. 
I'Uocks of birds were hastening by. 

To find a sunnier land than this, 
Wliere flowers bud and bloom each day; 
Where winds are soft and skies are fair, 
And speak of a perpetual May. 

lie watches till they fade away, • 
A tiny speck in the cloudless sky; 
•'The years fade just as fast as they." 
And he turned away with a sigh. 

Twenty-three years he lias been at his post. 
Faithfully serving his Master's time; 
'I'woukI not be vSunday if we did not hear 
A reminder in the l:>eirs sweet chimes. 

J'^arly and late, without complaint, 
Toiling faithfully all tliese years, 
Sometimes pleasures and sometimes x)ain, 
i^iany sweet hopes and many fears. 

And now 'tis liis birthday morning; 
Sixty-one years' old to-day, 
Jiis tliouglits are not Vv-ith the Present, 
r)Ut back to the Past they will stray. 

He sees a bright girl standing near him, 
And ktiows 'tis the wife he has won, 
Who has borne half the worries and troubles 
Since they life together begun. 

52 



He cannot see all the changes 
Wroug-ht by tlie hand of time: 
They are beautified and softened, 
-Made l)y much love divine. 

We will leave him here in the sunshine, 
With bright memories of the past, 
With many kind friends around him 
And a love that will always last. 

The bells chime out so gaily, 
And we'll join with them to say,- 
"Many another bright birthday, 
And happy returns of the day." 

A LULLABY. 

The birdlings all have closed their eyes, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

The stars are twinkling in the skies, 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 

vSafely cradled on my arm 

Mother guards thee from all harm, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Father's journeying on the sea, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Thinking oft of babe and me, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

May bright angels guard thee dear, 

Alwa3"S may they hover near, 

My baby, sleep. 



BABY'S SMILE. 

My dearest hopes are centered 
111 baby's little'cot; 
It stands wliere Io\'e has fashioned 
A most inviting sjDOt. 

In a pleasant nursery 
Where perfume fills the air 
And rich and pretty trinkets 
Speak of a tender care. 

I kneel beside my darling 
A loving watch to keep, 
And raethinks tlie angels too 
Will guard her there asleep. 

My treasure still slept soundly 
And I knelt there the while 
Till when I looked up quickly 
I saw the baby smile. 

The tiny face so joyous 
She must have happy dreams 
I gaze at her in wonder, 
vSo love] 3^ baby seems. 

I recall tales nurse told me, 
Many long years ago: 
How to interpret signs 
If tlic}' mean weal or woe. 

How when angels hover near " 
Tliey spread o'er her their wings; 
Baby smiles, for they whisper 
Such hosts of tender things. 

Still kneeling by lier cradle 
I pray for her, so dear, 
And ask the I,ord that angels 
May always liover near. 

54 



HOUSKCLEANING TiflE. 

T sat one day b}' the window, 
My pen striving to keep time 
With my happy thoughts and fancies, 
Trying to place them in rhyme. 

I had now succeeded better 
Than I ever dared to hope, 
And allowed my aspirations 
To have a much wider scope. 

My day-dreams seemed now more likely 
Than they ever did before; 
Air castles grew more luminous 
And substantial, than of yore. 

J>ut just as a brilliant future, 
Seemed about to fall my share, 
[ heard my mother call me, 
Thus — at the foot of the stairs. 

*"Tis time to set the table, 
Leave }'our conning silly rh3mies 
When you know how much I need you 
Just now at liousecleaning time." 

I gather my cherished pajx:rs, 
And lay them away with a sigh; 
While with hair in wild disorder, 
In haste to the kitchen fly. 

My brow is lined with deep wrinkles, 
And 1 make absurd mistakes: 
I^ook in the cake-box for sugar; 
Search the sugar barrel for cakes. 

I fear the clatter of dishes 
Has frightened my muse away, 
But 1 trust when he comes next time, 
ft won't be liousecleaning day. 

55 



A HEARTHS LAMENT. 

The house is sad and forsaken 
But more empty is my heart, 
For a bow was drawn by sorrow, 
And I'm pierced by its burning dart. 

Death's white angel came so gently 
To bear my loved one away, 
And though my heart was breaking 
I could not bid him stay. 

' Tis only a narrow river 
Which he has crossed before, 
And I trust I soon will meet him 
There on the shining shore. 

The dear old home is so lonely; 
Upon that I must not dwell, 
For 'tis the will of the Father 
Who doeth all things well. 

'Tis only a little journey 
The time will not seem long- 
Before I go to my dear one 
And join the joyful throng. 

Though his life with pain was weary 
He made no plaint or moan, 
I know 'twas a merciful Fathctr 
Who called my darling home. 

PEACE BE STILL. 

Bitter tears are swiftly falling, 
A heart is heavy to-day, 
F'or Death's angel has descended 
And called a dear one away. 

Never heeding the weei>ing 
Or the moan of a breaking heart — 
Drew nearer, swiftly, noi.selessly, 
Sundered two loved ones apart. 

56 



UNATTAINABLE WISHES, 

Why, now that we have grown wiser. 
Do we still cry for the moon? 
Our childhood lies far behind us, 
Why recall the same old tune? 

We long^ for what is beyond us, 
As we did so long ago, 
And will not yield our high ideals 
For those we could reach below. 

While WQ endure disappointment, 
Thinking it cannot last, 
And spend our lives in vain longings 
Just as we did in the past. 

Our tears did not bring us the moon 
And will not help us to-day. 
Somes hopes are as impossible 
And quite the distance away. 

Yet the clouds have a silver lining: 
Perhaps in the life to come 
Our wishes may be granted us 
As gifts at our welcome Home. 

TWfUQHT'5 HOUR, 

Sitting alone at twilight, 
Watching the falling snow, 
With pleasant memories around 
Of days of long ago. 

The happy days of childhood 
When all was bright and fair, 
The path seemed strewn with roses 
With not one thought of care. 



57 



Yes, there were childish troubles 
When little hearts would ache. 
But the sun shone all the brighter 
When soon the clouds would break, 

I love the evening twilight, 
Past memories are vSo clear. 
Friends of my youth seem nearer. 
Their voices I almost hear. 

Voices nearly forgotten, 
Memory recalls once more. 
Ah! the changes time has wrought 
Since those blest days of yore. 

The room is full of shadows, 
Of 3'OUth that would not last 
And the wind without seems wailing 
A requiem for the past. 

Still I sit in the twilight. 
*'Ah, no, the lights are here, 
And vanished are the shadows, 
So come to supper, dear. ' ' 

AN ODE TO HER VOICE. 

Some memories linger without leave. 
And others by our choice^ 
But one I trust will never fade 
Is the echo of her voice. 

I hear the sweet and plaintive strain 
As I heard it in the past; 
I hope that memory hovers near 
As long as life will last. 

The air resounds with melody; 
I need only close my eyes 
To dream that angels' voices 
Are echoing from the skies. 

58 



All troublesome, weary fancies 
Have winged a hurried flight; 
Only daydreams most enchanting 
May be my guests to-night. 

But now harken to the music, 
'Tis a voice to touch the heart 
And causes, though you know not» 
The happy tears to start. 

A thousand resolutions 
Surge in my breast to-night 
Inspired by those melodies 
To a more ambitous flight. 

Heart-stirring grows the music. 
I feel to her is given 
A voice so grand and beautiful,— 
A gloroius gift from heaven. 

All happiness seems possible 
In my present frame of mind, 
For, guided by the singing 
I cain pleasant pathways find. 

And now I see bright visions 
Which shine in the fires aglow, 
And I hear the same soft music 
As I did so long ago. 

But soon I awake from musing 
And instead of the sweet strain 
I only see dead ashes. 
And hear the falling rain. 



59 



THE FLOWER GIRL, 

Cutting and tending the violets, 
Watering roses so gay, 
The flower girl in her garden^ 
Was singing a plaintive lay. 

Her dark ej^es were bright, though saddened 
As if b}^ many a tear, 
And her thoughts had wandered slowly 
O'er a sad and troubled year. 

Her voice now trembled and faltered, 

'Twas impossible to sing, 

She felt so out of harmony. 

With the bright and lovely Spring. 

Does Roland know, she wondered, 
That our riches all have flown, 
And that all my hopes have vanished 
With my childhood's happy hours. 

And now I am selling flowers, 
There's another bunch to tie: 
Sweet peas, pansies and violets. 
Oh, who'll buy? Who'll buy? 

Just then a traveler passing 

Heard that sweet and plaintive cry 

And paused, for that voice brought memories 

Of happier days gone by. 

And then when he saw the maiden 
W^ith the blossoms at her feet. 
With a broken voice he faltered, 
"My love, at last we meet!" 

And the lovely, fragrant roses 
Were moistened with happy tears 
And they never blushed more brightly 
In the future blissful years. 

60 



"I'll buy" he whispered tenderly 
"Every flower in your garden 
If you'll agree; my darling, that 
The girl goes with the bargain." 

BIRTHDAY WISHES. 

TO DAISY. 

Birthday wishes, birthday kisses, 
All are yours to-day, my dear; 
Yours in all your youthful beauty 
Growing sweeter year by year. 

Others bring their gifts and greetings, 
Birthday treasures, rare and sweet. 
Mine is but a simple story 
I lay humbly at your feet. 

Rhyme imperfect, verses faulty, 
Only truth in every line. 
Hand in hand with love together 
Wishing every joy be thine. 

Years and years I watched a daisy 
Sheltered from all storm and strife, 
Growing in a quiet corner 
Of the varied garden of life. 

Slender and tall in her springtime beauty 
Happily tossing that pretty, proud head, 
Nothing could ever bend that daisy 
So all the other flowers said. 

Day by day I watched her growing 
With each white petal some new g^ace 
Was unfolded in the sunlight 
Till at last her lovely face 

Stood revealed in all its glory 
Flushed by twenty summers' suns. 
Loveliest flower in the garden 
She had all our praises won. 

6i 



But though most of the leaves unfolded 
Several petals decline to part, 
And nestled closely interwoven 
Guarding well the golden heart; 

But 'tis only now the sunrise 
And the morning's just begun, 
The heart will awake my pretty daisy 
With the glory of the sun. 

Oh! my pure and lovely Undine 
Let the sunrise last a time. 
Golden heart still keep on sleeping 
For now rosiest dreams of life are thine, 

JULY FOURTH. 
PAPA'S BIRTHDAY. 

Hark to the cannons boom of glory, 

Triumphantly it tells its story 

And its note so loud and clear 

Tells the birthdays of my country dear. 

Gladly we join the girls and boys 

In loud and merry noise, 

And joyous sounds from south to north 

Proclaim a victorious glorious Fourth. 

As to-day is your birthday too 

All my best wishes are with you; 

And the Fourth means more, you see 

Because it has given you to me; 

And though to-day I can't be near 

I wish you a happy birthday, Dear. 



62 



AFTER RAIN. 

The grass is wet and the wind is sweet 

And stars, like tender tear- bright eyes, 

Shine in the rain pools at my feet 

And a subtle stillness fills the skies; 

Mysteries cling in the quiet air. 

Low in the leaves when the hush is deep 

Violets dream in the darkness there, 

Breathing soft in their quiet .sleep. 

Thus to the soul that has compassed the strife, 

The trials and troubles, the passion and pain, 

The sorrow and sadnej;s, the heartache of life. 

Then comes such a time as this calm after rain 

When the senses are hushed and passions are stilled 

And doubtings and fearings and questionings cease 

And the whole of one's being is consciously filled 

With the bliss and the rapture and blessing of peace. 

YOUTHFUL HEROISM. 

When you and me is walking, Sue, 
You needn't be a bit afraid. 
For I could save you from, I know, 
The biggest bear thats ever made. 

I never saw such geese as girls, 
They want to run if they hear a noise, 
But I alius will take care of you 
When I ain't away with the boys. 

Now, jest supposin Carlo there 
Should get as mad as mad could be, 
I'd never think to run away. 
Why, no! I'd boost you up a tree. 

And then I'd climb up after you. 
You needn't laugh, I know you're tall, 
But I'm so strong I could easy lift you, 
And you needn't think I'd let you fall. 

63 



Why, don't you lj:now that day we slided 
And you went out when the ice was thin, 
I wouldn't let you, Sue, be drounded. 
But in my boots I waded in? 

And when I pulled you out a-cryin, 
I dragged you home on m^^ coasting sled 
And I never cried, though I was freezing, 
And you thought me awful brave, you said. 

And I jest wish a boa constrictor 

Or a great big monstrous bear would come, 

I bet I'd kill 'em jest as easy 

And save you too, and take you home. 

Remember the time the old gobbler flew at you, 
When we was seeing the chickens fed, [Susie, 
And I grabbed a broomstick lyin handy 
And three times hitted him on the head? 

And he toppled over jest as easy 
And we both thought sure he must be dead, 
So we went upstairs without our dinner, 
And hided quietly under the bed, — 

Till grandma called us down to dinner. 
We saw the gobbler staggerin about 
Actin kind of tipsy, but if I hadn't hit him 
He'd knocked you down without a doubt. 

Yes, of course I'll alius be your hero, 
But oh! lands, Sue, jest look! There's 
That awful pig that papa told us 
Ate children — 'zactly like a bear! 

I's scartto death, oh, will 3^ou run, Sue? 
I tell you he his comin fast! 
Oh! hurry up, I's got to leave you. 
I'd give him a hit but I don't dare! 



64 



There's the fence, pile over quick, Sue! 
Now aint you glad I made you run, 
I told you I'd alius save you, Susie, 
And didn't we have most awful fun? 

ON CARRIE'S BIRTHDAY. 

'Tis a lovely April morning, 
Nature' s in her best array. 
The birds seem carolling gaily 
Happy returns of the day. 

It is your birthday, dear Carrie; 
Heartfelt joy I wish for thee, 
And that each succeeding birthday 
More happy and blest will be. 

May all your prayers be granted 
And your dearest hopes come true. 
May all Life's choicest blessings 
Be given unto you. 

Birds in the orchard are singing, — • 
In the garden the bright bluebells — 
All unite with me in sending 
Best love and wishing thee well. 

TO LEROY ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

'Tis a lovely morn in April, 
Everything is bright and gay; 
The crocus seems nodding brightly 
Happy returns of the day. 

For Roy, 'tis your birthday morning, 
I wish you dear, all joy. [day 

We welcome the youth to our hearts to- 
, And bid adieu to the boy. 



65 



You are manlier and wiser 
Than your were last year I ween; 
Manhood soon will be advancing 
For Roy, you are seventeen. 

May higher success attend you 
And all your bright dreams construe, 
A blissful and happy future 
Be granted, dear, unto you. 

A LETTER, 
TO CARRIE. 

The birds are singing merrily, 
Everything seems bright and gay 
But to me, who only feels equal 
To writing to you to-day. 

What I say is an old story: 
The country is dull and slow, 
Nothing new ever will happen 
But what you already know. 

Oh! how I miss the gaiety 
And the friends I used to see, 
The matinees and concerts 
Which made life bright to me. 

When will you come and see me? 
I've asked you many a time; 
1*11 promise you won't be homesick 
When you visit this home of mine. 

I find I must finish this scribble 
As I expect friends at three. 
Will close with love and best wishes, 
And surely write soon to me. 



66 



ilY IDEAL. 

The evening shadows leng^then, 
And the day is fading fast. 

As looking toward the sunset, 
Come memories of the past. 

But sweeter than past memories 

The thoughts now o'er me steal, 

Of the winsome brown eyed lassie 
I know as my ideal. 

With brown eyes full of laughter 

To tenderness can grow, 
She seems symbolic of my life, 

Of the sunset's afterglow. 

For though far she may be from me, 

Her memory is so real 
That she guards and guides my future, 

My sweet brown eyed ideal. 

T. G. 

MY TRUE LOVE. 

My thoughts stray back to days of yore, 
And again I call to view, 
The face of one who vowed to me 
To be ever loyal and true. 

We had many walks together 
By the wild and restless sea, 
And to the music of the waves 
He would whisper low to me. 

How all his happiest moments 
Were spent in this blissful way, 
When he might carry my sketch-book 
Throughout the early day. 



67 



Later we would wander on 
To hear what the band might play. 
Oh! how quickly to us both 
The hours would steal away. 

And on the porch at eventide 
I would often a verse recite. 
I see him now with wistful eyes 
Watch me in the fading light. 

When the sad hour at last drew nigh 
And it was time to part, 
He proudly told to all around 
That I was his sweetheart. 

When the carriage wheels were heard 
W^hich were to bear me away, 
He could not see in the whole sky 
A single, sunny ray. 

Now the last farewell's were said 
And final kisses given. 
A tear fell from his bright blue eye. 
For my love was only seven. 

A BUNCH OF VIOLETS. 

Why have the violets I've gathered 
Brought the tears to your eyes? 
What is in those blossoms, Auntie, 
That causes those deep sighs? 

Dear, I know you have a secret, 
Won't you share it with me? 
For I am so interested 
In all that touches thee. 

Child, 'tis only the old story 
Of a young and trusting heart, 
And one who excelled in flirting, 
Yet wished to perfect his art. 



Of a short, but happy summer, 
Fast followed by a bleak fall. 
The tender birds of happiness, 
How the frost has touched them all! 

For we were now to be parted 
My friends said for a year. 
They did not wish me to see him 
Or a word from him to hear. 
And when the long time was ended 
And no change to us did bring 
They'd not oppose me further 
And wedding bells could ring. 
At last 'twas the time of parting, 
But sweet balm for my wo^ 
Was a tiny bunch of violets 
Plucked that morn long ago. 
He was to return the flowers 
When the long years had past. 
And promise to follow quickly, 
Then we should meet at last. 

'Tis ten years ago this morning. 
Ah! how swiftly time does fly; 
And I've never seen the violets 
Since we said our last Good-bye. 
But I received a short letter 
At the close of the long year 
Wishing me joy and happiness, 
'Twas his farewell, my dear. 
Fate had treated him unkindly. 
He would not ask me to share 
His very uncertain fortunes: 
Perhaps e'en hardships bear. 
I never since could bear violets; 
Please, dear, take them away, 
Their presence wakens memories, 
I cannot let them stay. 
69 



HERALDS OF SPRING. 

The blue birds and Robin red-breasts 
And bright messengers of Spring 
Sing merril}^ and joyously, 
Of the glad tidings they bring. 

They warble, warble of the sunshine^ 
Of the flowers blooming fast, 
That tlie sket and vSnow of winter 
Are now vanished in the past. 

They tell us of the merry streamlet 
Which was imprivSoned so long; 
How a sunbeam broke its fetters 
And now you can hear its song. 

And that the greenwoods^ are sprinkled 
With jewels rich and rare; 
The forget-me-nots are turquoise, 
Pearls, the anemone fair. 

Moonstones are the large, pure bloodrootSy 
Dandelion, the topaz bright, 
The amethyst, the modest violet, 
Drooping its fair head from sight. 

Then the songs grow soft and sweeter 
And I think they mean to bring 
And confide to us bright secrets 
For their notes have a joyous ring. 

They seem to tell a sweet story. 
Of a nest among the eaves 
Or hidden away in the shadow 
Midst the friendly maple leaves. 

'Tis thus they share their happiness, 
For we love to hear them sing, 
And unless the robins waked us 
Mornings, 'tw^ould not seem like Spring, 



70 



THE riAID OF THE HAZEL EYES. 
TO riY IDEAL. 

Queen of my heart with the hazel eyes, 
Beautiful vision that comes and goes, 

Linger awhile in the twilight here, 

While I tell you a secret that nobody knows. 

Tell you that all of my boyhood days, 

I have sought in vain for my heart's ideal, 

And just as despair had claimed me her own, 
Fate has deigned a jewel to reveal. 

And you of the hazel eyes have come 

Into my life with faith to reveal, 
And sitting we two in the twilight here^ 

I claim you my heart's long sought for ideal. 

I only fear you will fade away 

Into the past like a happy dream, 
But remember whate'er the result may be, 

You are ever my hope, my love, my queen. 

And this is the secret I whisper low, 

And wonder if you have heard me aright, 

And then I awake, and the shadows are gone, 

And you have vanished with them from sight. 



n 



YESTERDAY. 

Where are the hours of 3^evSterday, 

I could not catch them as they passed, 

So swiftly did they glide along, 

They seemed too precious long to last, 

I sigh in \'ain for yesterday 

For it has long since gone its way. 

It seemed all golden gleams of light, 
Each cloud had turned a ros}^ hue, 
Each mountain-tip of sorrow, then 
Seemed melting fast before my view, 
And life, one long, sweet, happy dream 
Lit by sunset's slanting gleam. 

I tried to follow yesterday, 
But soon a stranger caught my hand 
And said, — "Poor child, turn back with 
Why follow to unbidden land." [nie» 
Just then the sky all turned to gray 
And standing there I saw to-day. 

And as I gazed before my eyes 
High the mountains rose and grim 
And there a voice spoke to my love 
The words that made my eyes grow dim, 
This deeper grief it seemed to say 
Is but the joy of yesterday. 

But oh! sweet bygone Yesterday, 
Gladly would I endure the pain 
If in the shifting scenes of life 
You w^ould but hie with me again; 
And though to-morrow may be gay 
My thoughts will turn to yesterday, 



72 



And I shall wonder are you dead? 
Or living in your sweetness still? 
Perhaps in some far distant sphere 
Some other life with joy you fill. 
And then with evening fade away 
Into the land of Yesterday. 

TeIvAzeii. Gkdnky. 

Wriltea by Miss Gcduey for her dear friend Georgia a few months 
before their deaths. 



n 



AT LAST. 

Such a pretty little room in the fifth story of a New 
York apartment house so tastefully and prettily arranged, 
with all sorts of dainty knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, such 
as delights a woman's heart. It was easy to be seen that 
this was entirel)' a feminine apartment, for it would be a 
difficult matter to introduce the masculine element without 
an entire demolishment of the daint}'^ crockery or a general 
upsetting of the vSpindle-legged chairs and frail looking 
tete-a-tetcs, which seemed a snare for unsuspecting man. 

In the midst of all this daintiness and seated cosily 
at a tiny table beginning leisurely her morning meal, sat 
the mistress of this pretty bower, dividing her time be- 
tween her breakfast and her cat, an immense Maltese who 
had been her mistress' constant companion for several 
3^ears, and who seemed to understand her varying moods 
as no one else did. 

She was alone in the world with a small income which 
she helped along with her salary as typewriter. She 
made friends quickly, but nevertheless felt keenly what 
a lonely life she lived, and how very, very solitary she 
felt sometimes. 

Pussy was her only confidant, but this morning it 
seemed tliere was joyful news to communicate^ to judge 
by the fiashinf^ smiles and briglitening eyes. * 'J^st think, 
kittie," she began, *'Itis five years to-day since we quar- 
relled and I sent him away and told him I never wished 

7? 



to see his face again, and it was all about such a silly 
thing. He was jealous about one of the men in the office^ 
and I was angry because he would not trust me and wore 
Mr. Seaman's violets just to show Harry Lee he did not 
rule my actions yet. Then came the final scene — both so 
angry that I did not weigh our words, and now I would give 
all the world to recall those I said. But I never dreamed 
he would go; never knew he had an offer from the firm 
to do business for them abroad for years, and was only 
waiting to tell me, and ask me to go with him before mak- 
ing the final arrangements. But after my bitter words 
he packed his grip at once leaving a little note of farewell 
to me, saying if I ever repented to send a note to the firm 
and they would forward it to him. Just a word would 
bring him to my side. ' 'Only i;ay you're sorry, Marjorie, 
and I will come." 

"But somehow, kittie, I couldn't say it. There, you 
nod your head! I knew you would understand. I was so 
proud, kittie, and he knew it and often told me that my 
pride was stronger than my love, and I believe he was 
right until lately, when somehow my pride has melted 
quite away and seemed so unsatisfactory and love grew 
all in all to me. But for five long years, kittie, I held 
out and you and I, dear, have lived on and on here all alone 
just as when he left us, and I heard spiteful Mrs. Green 
say to-day when you nearly tripped her up on the stairs, 
something about old maids and their cats; she couldn't 
tell which was a bigger nuisance in the world. 

* 'But she'll change her tune, now, kittie, for what do 
3^ou think, dear? At last my pride has gone forever; at 
last there is nothing in my heart but love, love, love, and 

76 



I've written at last to Harry to tell him so; to say with 
all my heart I'm sorry, and to come home. The firm has 
forwarded the letter. He is doing- splendidly, they say, and 
is expected home soon. Oh, kittie! what that will mean 
to me only you and I know. The lonely, lonely nights; 
the dreadful dreams, and yet I could not say I was sorry. 
Oh, God forgive me, I can't forgive myself, but Harry 
will, for at last I have come to my senses, and pride will 
never rule me again. Such a little thing broke down the 
barrier, which for years my pride had built; a picture in 
an art window attracted my eye. 'Twas called, "The 
First Quarrel' ' and the face looked just like Harry's when 
stern and angry he bade me good-bye and the second one 
— oh God! the woman's fac^ haunts me yet. She knelt 
sobbing on the sands and the agony of that look v;iH 
never, never leave me. It was after a storm, and wreck- 
ings were strewn upon the shore and underneath was 
written,— "And the Ship went down that Night. ' ' ' Twas 
taken from Tennyson's poem. I almost staggered as I 
went home. And kittie, you remember how astonished 
you looked when I caught you up and sobbed and sobbed 
(I who had not cried for months;) yes, as if my heart 
would break. ' ' 

"That night I wrote to Harry and I humbled myself 
to the very dust. He will not recognize "his proud 
Queen Marjorie" as he used to call me, in the stricken 
w^oman who at last had found her heart and deems no 
sacrifice too great for love. 

"Oh my darling! how can I wait for the ship to come 
in? These last few da^^s are longer to me, and the suspense 
is harder to bear than the whole five 3'ears. But think, 

77 



kittie, 'twill be over at last, and then Mrs. Green will 
give less frosty smiles to the dashing Mrs. I<ee than ever 
she did to lonely Miss Grey. 

"But that is nothing to the fact that there will be no 
more lonely times to you and me, kittie. Just think of 
that. Oh! we have almost forgotten how to be happ3% 
but Harry will reteach me when he comes home at last. 

"There's the postman's whistle. Oh, kittie, my 
knees shake so I can scarcely get down stairs, but I must 

go, for of course 'tis a letter from Harry. 

******* 

' 'Well, kittie, another disappointment; only a news- 
paper, but oh! Am I awake? It is his writing! See the 
paragraph is marked. * 'Married, Miss Margaret Halstrom, 
Isonshire, England, to Mr. Harry lyce of New York City, 
by the Rev. Henry Astford, London." And on the 
margin written in, a trembling hand, — "At last, Marjorie, 
but it came too late, dear, too late! H. L." 

Only that, and to the half-crazed woman sitting there 
with all the love-light frozen in her eyes, it seemed 
as though the very echoes, even the ticking of the clock, 
— the cat's very purring, all repeated the words, — ''At 
last, Marjorie. but too late, dear, to late." 

Then vSlie roused herself and caught the cat passion- 
ately to her. "Oh, kittie," vshe moaned, "don't purr so 
loud. It goes through my heart. I know you are sorry 
for me. dear pussie, but you can't help me. No one 
ever can again. Mrs. Green is right. Old maids and 
cats are a nuisance in the world, but we'll trouble 
people as little as possible and just live together all alone 
forever and ever. Won't wc, kittie?" While the cat 
purred her sympathy and acquiesced, the woman lay prone 
upon the floor sobbing brokenly. "And the ship went 
down that night, the ship went down that night." 

.73 



THti SADDEST OF ALL. 

**You begin, Florence, and remember we aieall judges, 
and the one whose story stands the test wins the prize. ' ' 
The speaker was a sweet-faced woman past her j^outh, 
but still young and charming, and her two companions 
smiled upon her approvingly; and the one addressed as 
Florence hastened to comply with her request. It was a 
pleasant, cozy picture, the group at the fireside of a pretty 
old-fashioned bed-room in a country farmhouse where these 
women, girlhood friends and for many years, had reunit- 
ed at the home of one of them to spend the holidays, and 
now at this late hour had gathered in Helen's room and 
while brushing their unloosened hair exchanged confi- 
dences, which seemed most natural here by the soft sub- 
dued light made by the blaze of the logs in the open fire- 
place which in the glare of the uncompromising daylight, 
would have been impossible. They had enjoyed the pas^ 
few days together amazingly and had renewed their youth; 
retold old stories, reviewed old experiences, relived some 
of their past in this sympathetic companionship, but as 
yet none had unveiled any heart secret, no life story had 
been told and yet all these years they had been parted. Such 
bright, happy hearted girls, when they said farewell to each 
other years ago at a fashionable boarding school eager 
to see lyife — know its joys even though necessary to taste 
sorrows in so doing. Now they are again together still 
beautiful, but youth has left them and each is eager to 

79 



know the other's story, but as nobody is anxious to bare 
her heart even in such s^anpathetic company they come 
to a compromise. 

Bach must tell a story of personal experience which 
has allected a life, and hers whose is counted the saddest 
and hardest to bear, wins the day. 

They are waiting for Florence, who begins in a 
sweet, sad voice, which somehow thrills the heart, and 
causes one's eyes to fill against ones will, for the story 
slit tells is simple and common enough in this sad world 
of ours. 

"The girl I want to interest you in, she began, is no 
heroine, her greatest talent was loving, and she did that 
from the innermost depths of her being. She had a lone- 
ly life but was happy in caring for an invalid sister abcmt 
whom the fibers of her heart and very life where tightly 
bound. She was much older than the little vSick girl who 
was intrusted to her care by their mother who found life 
too hard a burden to bear and quietly slipped its chain 
one summer's morning several years previous leaving the 
two girls to battle with life alone. 

"The old home was left them, where they were hap- 
py and all in all to each other until the younger died of 
the incurable disease from which she had suffered all her 
life. Then, indeed, life seemed to the elder girl to have 
all changed, — what once charmed seemed dull and un- 
bearable. But we all know the havoc wrought by grief. 
The terrible monotony of interminable length; the sleep- 
less nights of anguish the unutterable longing to clasp 
once more tlie loved lost one! Our acute sorrow seems 
more than we can bear. The terrible remorse for impa- 

80 



tient words Hpoken or little services unrendered. What 
need to explain! We have all felt the pangs, more ter- 
rible because unuttered. A change conies at last when a 
lover who has been sent disconsolate away because of this 
same dear lost sister, returned and brought new argu- 
ments to bear why his suit should this time be considered 
more favorably. First, they were both alone, she need- 
ed him especially now, he alone could .soothe her grief, 
no duty bound her; why not say yes at once, so he argued; 
until, she worn by grief and loneliness, consented, if he 
would wait until Nellie had been dead a year, to become 
his wife, and as no argument would prevail upon her to 
shorten the period of waiting he fain would be content. 

But in one way he was rewarded, for by his patience 
with her grief and his long devotion, the whole wealth of 
her love became his own and she only lived for him. 
The sun again shown with its old-timed radiance and the 
brooks made the same sweet music and the notes of the 
birds took the same glad ring which had been lost to her 
ever since Nellie died, And they were happy. 

One month more and the probation would be ended, 
and those two who were all in all to each other, would be 
man and wife; and each looked eagerly to the time when 
partings would be things of the past. Then the war 
broke out and he was obliged to join his regiment. A 
sudden call ! only time for passionate farewell kisses, an- 
guished sobs, cheering words of hope, a last good-bye 
embrace, and she was once more alone. 

What need to tell her loneliness. Have we not felt 
the same, when some beloved form has left us for some 
danger from whence he may never return? 

8i 



Eagerly she searched the papers for some word to 
avail. Then came the battle. He fell mortally wounded. 
Some comrade wrote home. He sent his love and a love 
token. She did not die; she just lived on and people who 
knew her story were kind to the broken hearted woman 
who lived only for others and waited patiently for the 
time when the bugle would call her too and she could 
join her soldier lover never to be parted again. This was 
the story. She loved him and he died. 

Her voice faltered and stopped. The others' silence 
was more eloquent than speech as they pressed a kiss 
upon Florence's bowed head. 

Then after a pause Marjorie began in a low voice 
with her hand clasped in Florence's: "Mine is shorter 
and not so sad as yours, just an every-day experience, 
out of a life. 

"My heroine grew to womanhood; had many fan- 
cies; some were even love affairs; but none affected her 
seriously until at last she met the man for whose sake 
she would have faced poverty, or given up everything life 
held most dear. He was much older than she and ver}- 
clever, consequently it was an honor to know she attracted 
him when he scarcely glanced at the other girls. 

First her vanity was touched by his little flatteries, 
his confidences and his attentions, that her heart, and 
until before she was aware of it, herself, her very life was 
his for the asking. 

But the man seemed more interested in science than 
hearts except as a psychological stud)^ and looked upon 
the girl as a good listener and safe confidant so different 
from the girls of the day that he scarcely could finish his 

S2 



W(»rk fast enough to hasten to her presence. What was it 
to him if her eyes brightened wonderfnlly at his coming, 
or that once at some particularly tender speech he heard 
her heart throb quickly; she only became more interest- 
ing in his sight and something to be studied and learned. 
She was 3'oung and wouldn't suffer much; all the 
world knew he had to marry rich and was already engag- 
ed to a widow years his .senior. Why shouldn't she? 
But of what the world knew she was ignorant, and so 
happy that the whole earth wore an added brightness in 
her eyes. 

At last he was to speak. Hadn't he told her so? 
That night at eight, his story which was to be heard now, 
and she was waiting with cheeks flushed and heart beat- 
ing, as never in all her life she had waited for man's 
voice before. But this meant new life to her and she was 
happJ^ 

Then he came and told her how much she was to him; 
no woman before had he ever confided in, and to no wo- 
man again. Fate was very hard to him to oblige him to 
leave all he loved and marry a woman he cared nothing 
for, but one must love and he had ambition but no 
money, so he had to come to her to explain it all and say 
good-bye. She heard him out and except for her set, 
white face uttered no reproach but when he would have 
unfolded her in his arms, she waved him aside and with 
a pride he admired even though it angered him, bade 
him good-bye forever without even trembling of the lips. 
He was gone and her faith too. What a little thing, and 
yet henceforth she vvould trust no man, go through life 
alone rather than be cheated again, and so she wore a 

»3 



mask. No one knew her story though several guesses 
were made and the world little knew the real woman in 
her whom they called the ice queen, for through all her 
brilliant social success she unbent to no one, and if her 
heart were broken it was her secret alone. ' ' 

There was a slight pause when Marjorie had fin- 
ished, when she said, — "Now Helen, you are the last, 
now please take the floor at once. ' ' 

"Mine will not take up much time, it is only a sketch 
and I will cut it very short, for after those two heart- 
breaking stories, mine will not stand the test at all. It 
is just no story at all, really girls! My heroine was such 
a queer girl I fear I will fail to interest you in her at all. 

"Her life was a very happy one; she had scores of 
friends and admirers; was of a happy disposition, which 
drew people to her and caused many hearts to be laid at 
her feet. She was talented and ambitious, but above all 
else she desired to love and be loved, and resolved that 
neither lack of position or money would influence her. So 
she began her social life and success greeted her every- 
where. But in all the love offered her there was some 
flaw in each and her heart responded to none, and in all 
the years to come though she longed most passionately 
even though disappointment followed, her head always 
ruled and her heart was never touched by love. It seem- 
ed a strange case. It was not haughtiness or pride for 
she told me once in defense she would give her life if she 
could only love once, even should it prove unworthy. 
"My heart fairly ached to feel as other girls do," she said, 
and though she tried with all her will to return the affect- 

84 



ion offered her the trial was unsuccessful and all her 
life she never found her heart. " 

The stories were told, and with one accord the wo- 
men arose. Marjorie and Florence suddenly held out 
their arms to Helen and while they tenderly kissed 
her good night, said in one breath, — "Dear Helen, your 
story is the saddest and hardest of all. You have won 
the test. God pity the women who goes through life 
without knowing love." And when they had left her 
Helen gazed sadly into the dying fire and murmured sob- 
bingly, — * * Amen. God pity her! ' ' 



U 



FOR FAITH, 

OR THE HOME COHING. 

After fifteen j^ears' absence George vStanton was 
coming home! Coming home, ah! how often in the past 
few weeks has he written those magic words over 
and over to himself dwelling upon them delightedly, and 
adding softly, joyfully, two other words which seemed 
a part of the preceding ones, — To Faith, to Faith, com- 
ing home to Faith! There was something pathetic in 
the sight of that tall, stalwart man leaning over the bul- 
wark of that home-bound vessel with his eyes fixed far 
seaward; apparently far, far away from the present, so 
the fair passengers of the "New York" thought who so 
ardently, at least some of them, desired his acquaintance. 
They had tried in vain to attract his attention, this man 
who was ever)^ inch a gentleman and if report be true, 
fabulously wealthy, besides; but he was so happily engag- 
ed thinking his own thoughts and dreaming his own bliss- 
ful dreams of the future that he heeded not their efforts, 
and indeed seemed in ignorance of them, and so remained 
a solitary figure to the end of the voyage. They were 
Hearing New York harbor now, and eagerly he watched 
the familiar coast while his thoughts were still fixed on 
the happy past, and an even happier future to which he 
looked forward v.ith longing eyes. Kyes, which, as the 
dear native shores became more defined, grew so moist 

86 



that they saw but dimly as through a mist, and he dash- 
ed his handkerchief impatiently across them, that he 
might not lose the first glimpse of the land, which to him 
is so dear: — First, because it is home and he is a part of 
it, and all these years since he has been on foreign shores 
he has never lost the dull ache of homesickness, and the 
longing to once more tread his native soil, and retie the 
old threads of Life which were so rudely snapped at his 
departure, when the longing came to seek his fortune, try 
his luck in other lands, and even the pleading, pitiful cry 
of love did not alter his decision. 

But the second made it even dearer. It was the home 
of Faith, — had sheltered her all these years — Dear Faith, 
who had clung so broken-heartedly to him and begged 
with all her heart that he would stay, and that they might 
face poverty together rather than loneliness and heartache 
apart, and with the ocean between them. 

"Oh George," she sobbed, "You know I cannot 
leave mother sick and alone to accompany you and you 
would not respect me if I did. But why need you go? 
To get rich for my sake, you say. Why, I do not want 
money, I only want you, dear, only you. I know the 
place is small, too cramped for a man of j'our aims and 
ambition. Perhaps I am wrong to urge you to give up 
all your hopes just for me. Dear, I did not mean that. 
You know I want all for your gccd,^o I'll not say an other 
word against your going; but oh, will you remember the 
little girl who is waiting and praying for you so many 
hundred miles away? I know^ dear, how hard poverty 
has been for you and how weary these past five years' wait- 
ing has been. Just think! we have been engaged five 

87 



years, but oh, George, they were very happy years to me. 
But a man is different, dear, I know, and there seemed 
no better prospect before us, and I know how this indefi- 
nite engagement galled and fretted you. I see you are 
right; there will be no advancement for you here. No, 
I won't cry any more, I'll just think how soon my wait- 
ing will be over and dream of the welcome I will give my 
brave boy when he comes home again." 

Dear little haith? and that was fifteen years ago. 
One thing after another kept him there, success was so 
hard and eluded his grasp so many, many times, and he 
had faced failure in so many different forms until at last, 
when weary, disheartened, he decided to return to Faith, 
ask her forgiveness for ever leaving her, and tiy and be- 
gin from the beginning in the little humdrum town, 
which now looked most alluring to the homesick man 
hundreds and hundreds of miles away. But just as he 
had thus decided, luck came his way and Fortune smiled 
on him at last. This last venture was more fortunate than he 
ever dreamed possible, and after that, all things changed. 
Everything he touched turned out well until he was rich- 
er than his wildest hopes, and now he had it all for 
Faith and was hastening home to her. No wonder his 
thoughts were happy ones. Dear little girl ! how verj^ 
very lonely she must have been; her faithful little letters 
told him so, and since her invalid mother died a time 
ago who had been her constant care for years, she had 
been alone with an old servant, but still constant, and 
ever watching and waiting for him. He had only receiv- 
ed her letter telling of her loss a day before the steamer 
sailed, and that made him more impatient than ever to 

88 



hasten to her side. A picture of her as she looked when 
she bade him good bye rose before him. Just the dear- 
est, sweetest little face and form ever a man carried in his 
heart for fifteen years. A daint}', slender figure below 
the medium height; and her face! well, he couldn't de- 
scribe its loveliness even to himself. He could jur.t feel 
it and think it was like some tropical wild rose he had 
seen in his wandering, all pink and white, one of which 
so recalled Faith to his mind that he had plucked the rose 
and set it in a cup on the table in his cabin and enjoyed 
its loveliness aud fragrance until it faded, and then its 
resemblance to Faith vanished, and he was about to throw 
it from the window but something whispered that just be- 
cause once it had reminded him of Faith it was sacred, so 
instead he slipped it carefully within the leaves of an old 
note-book and there it was safe still, and now he was go- 
ing to take it to Faith and tell her its story. 

And now the boat had landed, and all the people were 
rushing eagerly toward the gangway, and eyes were search- 
ing and finding friends, parents and lovers. But to him 
these greetings only sadden as there were none to meet 
him; but this mood was quickly replaced by a happier 
one, and no one was more happy than he to get on shore, 
for was he not to take the first train to love and Faith? 

While he was making his waj^ through the eager crowd, 
it was in a little village among the hills in New York 
State where Faith anxiously waited and counted the hours, 
yea, the very minutes; Vv' hich would bring her lover back 
to her. She had been very lonely, only her heart knew. 
When her mother lived she had so much anxiety on her 
slender .shoulders, and the invalid required all her care 

89 



and attention, that Faith had little time to mourn her 
lover's absence and only in the night would she let her- 
self think, and weep hopeless tears of lonliness and ap- 
prehension. But the last year had been more terrible 
than all the preceding ones, for now her mother no longer 
needed her care and love; the empty couch to her aching 
heart w^as a constant reminder of her loss and the dread- 
ful void in her life seemed intolerable and when six 
months of that life of loneliness had elapsed and no letter 
from her lover, it seemed more than she could bear. 

But now, all was changed. A letter had reached 
her a week ago and he was coming home to her; indeed, 
he would be there this very day if the boat was on time, 
and she, who had borne sorrow so unflinchingl)^, and 
fought face to face with that grim messenger, Death, was 
completely overcome when joy touched her heart, and 
had wept and trembled from head to foot almost since 
the letter had reached her. 

The change of the past 3'ears was much more notice- 
able in the w^oman than the man, for where he had simply 
grown manlier, broader and heavier, she had faded like 
the wild rose, until there was nothing left of the bloom- 
ing girl of twenty-five he had parted from fifteen years 
previous, in the faded woman of forty who was aged be- 
yond her years and on whom Sorrow had laid a heavy 
hand; and many were the marks traced in the once bloom- 
ing face. ' Tis entirely altered except the eyes, and they 
were unchanged and glistened with their old-time radi- 
ance and love. But of the terrible alteration grief, anxi- 
ety and care had wrought, she herself was unconscious 
for there was little time to make the looking-glass her 

90 



friend in the years that had gone, and no heart for it 
either, for there wavS no one to care if she wore her hair 
high or low, curled or plain, or a red or a blue ribbon. 

But now it was different, and since the baking was 
all finished, and the special cakes and pies and other 
good things George liked best, all ready on the pantry 
shelves, she had been thinking and thinking what she 
would wear, and if he would notice the streaks of grey in 
her hair that she had seen herself for the first time that 
morning. But a large blue bow would nearly hide them, 
and she nearly distracted poor, old Mary in the kitchen, 
rushing back and forth giving the same directions over 
and over again. He liked coffee and it must have the 
richest cream, and oh! the muffins must be light and hot 
for supper, and oh! did Mary think the pink roses would 
look better on the bush or on the table? As it would be 
late when he arrived they finally decided to cut the flow- 
ers and then Mary added, — "And now, Miss dear, you 
go dress yourself and 1 will see that everything is as nice 
as you please, for don't I love Mr. George myself and 
aint I proper glad that he is coming home to take care of 
dear Miss Faith at last, poor child?" and Mary rubbed a 
coarse hand across her e3'es at the sight of the vanishing 
happy figure through the doorwaj'. "Please Heaven, 
she won't be disappointed, but could any man stand the 
change those years have brought to her! I wouldn't be- 
lieve she was the same girl m3^self as when Mr. George 
went avray. Poor thing! poor thing! God help her!" 
murmured the sympathetic maid who had been with her 
since childhood, and she sighed sadly as she resumed her 
work. Meantime, Faith in her little room upstairs had 

91 



turned her entire wardrobe on the bed, and impatiently 
tossed dress after dress aside as perfectly unsuitable for 
to-day. She would not wear black and the others were 
so old and shabby. Oh, it was so hard to find anything 
nice and fresh enough. At last she remembered a blue 
muslin bought two years ago that summer in memory of 
him, hoping he would return before it was worn out. 
She had worn it only twice, then laid it softly by in a 
trunk with a few tears and lost hopes in its muslin folds. 
But now she remembered it and 'tis his favorite color, too, 
and quickly she brought it out and put it on with a large 
blue sash, and curled and arranged her hair as she did 
so long ago. Can it be truly years since they were engaged? 
But she will not think of that now. At last she is ready, 
and as this is such a tiny glass in her room, she can only 
see part of her face at a time in it and it makes her look 
so dreadfully old. She thinks she will run to a larger one 
down stairs and there she stands transfixed in amaze- 
ment and horror at the reflection which meets her terrified 
gaze. Was that thin, scrawny, white-faced, oldish 
woman wath whitish hair, dressed like a girl grinning 
foolishlj' back at her under the bobbing curls and blue 
ribbons, the Faith George had loved, his little rosebud; as 
he used to call her? Oh Heaven have mercy! What 
should she do. All the joys of the morning turned into 
bitterest woe. In angry scorn and contempt with herself, 
she tore off the girlish finery, brushed her hair plainly, 
put aside the blue ribbons over which she had spent such 
hapi^y moments arranging them as he loved to see them 
in days gone by. But those days were dead, as dead as 
her past youth and prettiness. So she reasoned and 

92. 



quickly donned a plain grey gxDwn, batlied her face and 
poor swollen eyes, and slipped down stairs where Mary 
i-aised her hands in utter surprise, for she knew how lov- 
ingly Faith had thought and planned her toilet, and would 
she have gone upstairs four hours before the train was 
due just to put on her plain, old grey dress? But the look 
in Faith's poor, pathetic face silenced Mary's question- 
ing, so she only gathered a pink rose, and Faith offered 
no objection when Mary fastened it on the bosom of her 
dress whispering, — **Mr. George loved you to wear them 
pink roses, Miss Faith." 

So the long afternoon wore itself away as the longest 
afternoon will after a time, but Faith felt it was the long- 
est and saddest she ever had known in her life, and her 
poor face seemed more pinched, and whiter with every 
liour. At last it was six-thirty and the train was due, 
even if a little late he would surely be here at seven. So 
she went out on the little porch, and though she had to 
hold fast to the railings to steady herself, waited his com- 
ing there. 

Never had her heart throbbed like this before, and 
never had she felt that sick, faint sensation in all her life 
quite in the same dreadful way. At last, after a period 
of suspense, when she thinks she can count her heart- 
throbs, she sees a tall figure walking briskly towards her, 
and even from that distance she knows it is her George's 
and feasts her eyes upon him as though she would never 
tire looking; and all her trembling returns tenfold, for 
how can she greet the handsome, stalwart man and tell 
him she, poor, little faded she; is the blooming sweetheart 
he left fifteen years ago! But he has reached the steps 

93 



and the moment which she has counted on and looked for- 
ward to so eagerly all these 3'ears, and the anticipation of 
which has kept her poor spent heart from fainting man}' 
a time has arrived, and is in her grasp at last. She al- 
most holds out her arms to him, but drops them suddenly 
trembling to her side, as the man with simply a casual 
glance in her direction hurries up the steps of the porch, 
passes her, then pauses at the door with only a backward 
look, lifts his hat hastily and asks courteously, — 
"Madam, could you tell me please if Miss Faith Holme- 
stead lives here still?" 

A sound, is it a .sob? startles him; and turning, he 
encounters such heart-breaking woe that l)c\vildered, he 
goes forward a step or two and meets a reproachful glance 
from the selfsame luminous grey eyes he liad kissed again 
and again, that summer night fifteen years ago. 

No words can express the tempest that raged in him 
as he realized the truth and saw the change, the terrible 
change, which rendered his sweetheart almost unrecogniz- 
able. Such a revulsion of feeling no one l)Ut he can ever 
tell. Plow can he clasp that woman to his heart, almost 
a caricature of the girl of his dreams, this faded woman 
who was gazing into his eyes with such woeful pleading 
and longing that he had never seen in all his life! It was 
but a moment, but one of tlie moments that a man lives 
a lifetime. What should he do? Fliglit suggested itself, 
then he paused; one of his fingers touched something hard 
in his pocket. 'Tvvas his note-book with the faded rose. 
Quickly unbidden tears rushed to his eyes, old memories 
rose before him of lonely evenings in that cabin wdien 
that faded rose was his only companion and whispered 

9\ 



lovingly to him of honor, love and faith, and how even 
when it faded how much dearer it became to him. A 
moment longer, hesitation and Faith would have decided 
their fate for him and vanished out of his life forever- 
But the rose touched the right cord and broke down all 
barriers and opened the flood gates of a strong man's 
heart. A whispered "For Faith! For Faith!" and with a 
great sob which sometimes comes from the innermost 
depths of a man's soul he strode towards her, and open- 
ing wide his arms cried brokenly, — "Faith, Faith; my 
darling, is this my little Faith at last? My poor broken 
winged birdie, but now all her troubles are over and no 
rough winds shall ever blow on her again if I can help 
it!" Then on his breast sobbing out all the past years' 
cares and sorrows, and the past day's grief and distrust, 
Faith found her haven of rest at last and rested peace- 
fully in the arms which so tightly enfolded her as though 
to def}^ grief or harm to touch her now. They had stepp- 
ed in the little parlor after the first recognition and old 
memories so arose and confronted him that the past fif- 
teen years seemed to fade away in the distance, until he 
looked at the faded woman at his side clinging to him so 
pathetically and then he realized the time,wdiichhadelaps- 
ed from then and now% and that they never could go back 
again. But he would make up to her he resolved to 
himself, his poor little rose for all she had suffered, and 
now henceforward it would be his life's work to make her 
happy, and to keep from her the knowledge that the lost 
Faith of his love was to him what the present Faith, his 
wife, could never be. And she was happier than she 
ever dreamed she would be and her husband was some- 

95 



thing different from any other woman's husband in her 
estimation. There was something touching in the way 
she idolized that strong man whose only object in life 
was to make life's pathway all roses and sunshine for 
that frail, little woman. And people wondered at his de- 
votion, but no one knew the truth and Faith least of all. 
Many and many times he would steal away to his lonel)-' 
study and take from its faded coverings a photograph of 
a beautiful grey-eyed girl of twenty and on the back was 
written these words, — '*My Faith." — and the date^ 
twenty years ago. Many kisses he rained upon that 
pictured face, then would place it carefully in its hiding 
place and return to his wife more loving and devoted 
than ever. And day after day, she would say how much 
happier she was than on the preceding one, and tell 
Mary tremulously how George would whisper nearly 
every night in his dreams, — "My Faith, my Faith ! " 



06 



TWO PATHS —A Fable. 

They were not ordinary girls; and they were both 
beautiful but in an entirely different style from each 
other, being both fashioned in an extremely exquisite 
pattern of her own. 

Their school days ending brought to them an ever 
increasing thirst for that knowledge which was not to be 
found within the covers of their old worn school books. 

This intense craving for a broader, wider field for 
action than the narrow, little country village in which 
they lived afforded, united the girls in a close bond of 
sympathetic comradeship, and their complete comprehen- 
sion and unity with each other's ideas decided them to 
leave home and seek this wonderful knowledge which 
they craved together. 

They first sought the mountains where they were 
told the wise man lived who gave free advise to every 
seeker after experience and wisdom, and after a weary 
day's journey found him in his hut. 

The girl with the wonderful eyes went first to lay 
her case before the wise old man; eyes so deep and dark 
and unfathomable that one felt out of one's depth at the 
first glance and then only pity at the unutterable, unsat- 
isfied longing those eyes expiessed. 

She was quick, precocious and haughty, and trem- 
bling eager to begin her life's search; her very tones 
shook with excitement as she began her recital. 

* 'All my life I have been cramped for ways and 

97 



means," she began. "I knew I was beautiful and 
accomplished and fit to command, but everything was 
denied me and I have rebelled in vain. ' ' 

"Now I have vStarted life for myself, and come to 
you to point me out the path I must take to attain wealth, 
ease and power or sovereignty by which I shall find my 
happiness. I can bear any hardship if only I may attain 
my desire in the end." 

The old man listened, and looking at the beautiful 
eager girl pondered on the paths before him. One was 
narrow, rocky, steep and bramble-grown with many pit- 
falls. The other was wide, plainly marked and though 
not so plain in some places, most of the obstacles could 
be overthrown. Indeed the way was plainly seen com- 
pared to the other paths. His glance rested on the last 
one, and he said kindly, — "There is your road, follow 
thou it; you will have many drawbacks, and some falls, 
but persevere, and you will reach the goal of your ambi- 
tion. Farewell and good luck," and he turned his head 
away with a kindly smile to the other girl who had bid- 
den adieu to her friend and now stood waiting her turn, 
and said, — "My child, what ean I do for you? She was 
more pleasing and just as beautiful as the other with a 
face so full of love, and hope and truth, that one felt 
better just to look on it; and her eyes were so full of 
the holy light of love and peace one must feel less at war 
with mankind and themselves just after a glance in their 
depths. 

Her eyes grew luminous when she tried to answer 
the old man and something in their expression touched 
him (who had not allowed himself to feel for centuries) 

98 



and showed him how much she had counted on his coun- 
sel and what his decision meant to her. Her voice was 
very low when she murmured: 

'*I have dreamed all my life of love and lived on 
that dream, and until the awakening came never realized 
half Life's bitterness. It has been so intense, so over- 
whelming, that the ideal of my youth has been to find 
out the truth, to learn if love is a reality and if it will 
come, come to me in a dream from which there will be no 
awakening. Perhaps I am tempting fate, but I must 
know the truth at all hazards, and could I know one such 
blissful dream which would at least prove reality I would 
be willing to pay all costs, no matter what suffering it 
would mean to me. Let me, oh let me know love, it 
would be my life and without it I shall perish. Oh 
quickly, kind father help me hasten on my way, and 
show me the right path!" 

"Dear child!" and there was truly a tremor in the 
old man's voice. "I would warn you, but I know it will 
not prevent j^ou going, I would tell 3^ou of the terrible 
dangers, hardships and trials you will encounter, but yes, 
I see you are deaf to them all. So go with my blessing." 

"Yes, that is your way," and he pointed to the nar- 
row, rocky path, thorns and stones at every step^ and no 
way to avoid them, but she smiled happily, in no way 
daunted, thanked him, and set out on the thorny path. 

He watched her out of sight and sighed muttering 
something about, — "Youth, youth, and experience, and 
the pity of it," and so murmuring let himself in his little 
mountain hut and closed the door. 

****** 
L.ofC. 

99 



Years passed, and often other people with other 
needs sought and found in the wise man just what they 
most required. But through all the quiet years, he still 
remembered the two handsome girls who sought his ad- 
vise so long ago and looked for their return, for return 
he knew they would, and they did. 

One beautiful October morning when ever3^thing was 
bright and cheery and Nature herself had donned her 
most brilliant array. When it would seem ludicrous in 
tlie extreme, to think of biting frost when all these beau- 
tiful crimsons and golden color will be changed to the 
dullest brown. — but November is a month away and 
forgotten. Just now all is warmth, and radiant with that 
hazy splendors of an October afternoon, and so still one 
can hear the brown nuts dropping from the chestnut treef*. 
—-'twas then they came. Changed, ah yes, but to be 
known at the first glance, so the wise man thought. 

The first, — tall, haughty and prouder than when 
she met him. Her wonderful eyes as unsatisfied as of 
old, and her magnificent hair now a snowy white; her 
bearing more queenly than before, and her voice richer 
and fuller in cadence, her tone broke melodiously the 
silence. "I've returned as unsatisfied as ever, unhappy 
and with as many unquenchable longings as before. 
I've had wealth, ease and power and had many at my 
feet, conquering all. I've been called the greatest lady 
in the land and I've reached the height with few strug- 
gles and fewer hardships, have made men the stepping 
stone and found my way easy. But I've known no hap- 
piness since I left you; tasted no true joy or peace; have 
had no time for the luxury of a tear. The first time I 



lOO 



felt such an emotion was when a little child pointed me 
out to another whispering, — "See she's a beautiful lady 
but she never had a heart." Then I indeed felt the hot 
tears gather, but forced them back, for you see I had no 
time to let them fall, for the world is a hard master, and 
I am his humble subject. But at the words of that little 
girl I felt for the first time the terrible, bitter unsatisfact* 
ion of it all and that I would give up all my wonderful 
])ossessions if I could only find my heart, for I knew the 
child was right. But I do not complain. You helped 
me attain my ambition and it is only in wild moments I 
allow myself to think. I don't usally have time. But 
the world calls. Don't keep me, I must go. 

*'Poor child," the wise man looked pityingly at the 
beautiful, restless face, detained her gently and bade her 
listen to her sister's story, then turned to the one who 
had interested him most. 

He found the change even greater in her: years of 
pain and care had left their mark and she seemed sadly 
aged bej^ond her years. Her figure, formerly so erect 
and tall, worry and grief had laid their hands upon it 
until it tottered and bent under the load. But the beau- 
tiful face was as fair and lovely as ever, and the eyes 
fairly dazzled one with their wonderful light and radaince, 
and there was no unsatisfied longing in their depths. 
All was rest and peace; and could it be? yes, it was 
happiness! Her voice was low, but sweet and clear, as 
she began her recital. 

"When I started on my journey on the path you 
designated," she began, "the obstacles were so much 
more dreadful than I dreamed, I felt I must return, but 



lOI 



something urged me (>n and I seemed to see away before 
me the beautiful vision for which I sought, that encour- 
aged, I still pushed on. But every warning you uttered 
came true, every thorn pierced my flesh. I was bruised 
by every stone, slipped and fell at nearly every turn and 
finally became so heartsick and weary and footsore that 
I felt I must faint by the roadway, for all faith and 
courage had forsaken me, when suddenly I saw a vision, 
the most beautiful I ever beheld; like my dream, but 
better, purer and lovlier and I knew^ I beheld love at last. 
It was so near I could almost touch it, just as I had 
despaired, but I was too weak and spent to move and 
could only hold out my empty hungry arms when it 
floated close and at last surrounded me with its beauty, 
enveloped me in its embrace. Where was fatigue and 
pain just now, and bruises and wounds from the cruel 
rocks and thorns? I forgot them all remembering 
naught but the present joy and that I had discovered my 
ideal; found my dreams reality and reached the goal of 
my ambition! Such bliss was worth all the pain I bore 
through all my years of waiting. It seemed only yester- 
day, though 'tisyearsago. We lived a life of happiness. 
I can't count by years. 

Then fate in the shape of death tore us asunder 
and I suffered again alone, and yet not alone for Mem- 
ory and Faith have been my companions and I know my 
dream was true and there is real happiness in the world. 

'*! thank you for showing me the thorny path for 
though I received many wounds and bear the scars still 
and am old and feeble beyond my years, I have seen a 
glimpse of heaven," — and her eyes shown with an al- 



102 



most unearthly glow of happiness — *'for oh, I have 
known what it would be well worth dying for. I have 
known love." 

And the wise man and the proud, ambitious woman 
looked at her now pale face aglow with that happiness 
which was unknown to them and 'twas with a sort of 
pathetic envy they murmured; — *' ' Twas worth it all for 
she has known love. * ' 



103 



OCT 21 



190 



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